A Shadow To A Heart
by FlyingFish15
Summary: A teenage girl has a unique power that gets the attention of the Thule Occult Society, paticularly Kroenen and Ilsa. Characters are based off the movie, leads up to the battle in the beginning scene in the movie. Chapter 20 added, sequel in progress.
1. Default Chapter

**A Shadow to a Heart**

Disclaimer: Hellboy characters do not belong to me, and The Sound of Music doesn't belong to me either. However, Erica is mine.

Author's Notes: This story is for my wonderful reviewers, and especially for Nightcaster who liked my poems so much. By the way, I really liked your deviant art page. Thanks for all the reviews everyone!  
Sorry if this first chapter starts out a little slow, but you have to have the background so the rest of the story will make sense. And trust me, it gets better. Also, please review!PG-13 for violence/action, scary stuff, etc. in later chapters.

**Chapter One: Premonitions**

Erica Schwartz, fifteen, nearly sixteen years old, was walking to her bus stop on a chilly autumn morning. She breathed deeply, looking up at the trees with her storm-gray eyes. The green leaves of summer were now the flame colored leaves of autumn. A cold breeze tossed her long brown hair around, and she pushed it back behind her ears, pulling her light blue sweater closer around her, very glad she had worn jeans this morning instead of shorts. She came to the tree that marked the bus stop and stood there waiting in the wonderful early morning quiet. She loved being out in the country, everything was so beautiful, the sunrises, the snow, even foggy mornings that made her want to dance in the mist.

She knew the other high schoolers would be along soon, she knew they'd laugh at her if they knew what she was thinking. They'd laugh at her because she was different, just because she was tall, was Irish-German, and loved to read. She sighed, she was just glad she'd stopped growing when she reached 5ft. 8in., it was hard enough to find clothes for someone so tall and slender. She was one of those girls that's pretty, but that guys always ignore because she was also intelligent. _They don't know what they're missing._ she thought.

She looked around, no one else had shown up yet. She took her backpack off and knelt down on the ground, searching through its contents. She found the book she wanted and sat down at the base of the tree to read. It was a collection of various mythologies and information about sorcery and witchcraft in the medieval period. These were things she enjoyed reading about because she found magic to be a fascinating idea, although she had no intentions of trying or even believing entirely in it. She was almost finished a story involving The Three Fates, when the other students showed up running, the bus right behind them. _One day they're going to be so late they'll miss the bus. _she thought. Erica quickly closed her book and put it in her backpack, zippered it shut and stood up. The bus stopped in front of her, and she got on, the others getting on after her, puffing and out of breath

The ride on the bus wasn't very long, and Erica spent it staring out the window at the sunrise, admiring the bright colors that no one else seemed to notice. The bus stopped, and she climbed down the stairs and walked through the doors ofher high school. She made it to her locker, dropped her stuff off, got her binder and textbooks, and hurried to her Geometry class on the second floor of the building.

Some of the students were already there, talking as they got their stuff out for class. As Erica walked in, she noticed Mrs. Jones at her desk smiling oddly, as if she had some secret that she was going to announce. Seeing that look, Erica quickly sat down at her own desk and began leafing through her notes from the day before, suspicious that Mrs. Jones was about to hand out a pop quiz. After all, Mrs. Jones only got _that_ look when she surprised them with a test.

Josh sat down next to her, plopping into his chair.

"Hey, Josh," said Erica, "you might want to look over your notes. I've got a feeling we're going to have a pop quiz."

"Yeah right." he said. "Mrs. Jones never gives pop quizzes on Wednesday, only on Fridays."

"It's your grade." said Erica, going back to studying.

The bell for first period rang, and everyone hurried to take their seats.

"Everyone take a seat, please." said Mrs. Jones, heading to the blackboard. "Take out a pencil and paper, and put all your things away, you're going to take a pop quiz. Please take the next few seconds to complain."

"Awwwww." everyone moaned in unison.

"That's enough." Mrs. Jones said. "Now get out your pencil and paper."

There was some rustling and muttered complaints as everyone in the class got out their supplies. Josh turned to look at Erica in astonishment.

"How'd you know?" he asked.

"Just lucky." said Erica, shrugging.

After school, Erica went to the auditorium to help with the school's fall play _The Sound Of Music_. It was the dress rehearsal, as the play was tomorrow, and she was one of the students who had volunteered to make the costumes. Currently, she was supposed to help the actresses put on their costumes.

She walked into the cheerful and somewhat hectic chaos backstage: the Tech crew was testing the lighting, the scenery was being moved and assembled, last touches were being put on the props by the high school's Art Club, and people were dashing back and forth with messages or to "go fetch this" or "go get that".

Miss Hawthorne, the Drama teacher, and also director of the play, was in the midst of it all. She spotted Erica.

"Erica! Back to the dressing rooms! They need you. And when you're finished, come out and help with assembling the scenery—" Miss Hawthorne was interrupted by another student asking where to put his cartload of props.

Erica walked back to the dressing rooms, opened the door, and was met with a mini disaster in the making. The costumes had somehow been mixed up, they had been sent to the wrong dressing rooms! (In other words, the girls had the boy's pants and shirts, and the boys had pretty dresses.) After she straightened that out, she discovered that two actresses had put on each other's costumes by mistake, so she sorted that out too. When she was finished, she moved aside to let the make-up crew take over, they had been getting very impatient while she straightened out the whole mess. Erica went backstage, where Sarah, one of her friends, saw her.

"Hi Erica! Come over here!" Sarah said. "We need help setting up the props for the First Act!"

Sarah grabbed Erica's arm and led her to the pile of props.

"Here, just help Patrick put these on the stage." Sarah said, indicating a jumble of props. "By the way, having fun?"

"You bet!" said Erica, grinning. "I just wish there were swordfights in this play like _Romeo and Juliet_, the play we did last year. I loved watching them!"

"Just be careful, if Miss Hawthorne sees us standing here talking she'll probably come after _us_ with a sword!" said Sarah laughing. Then Sarah dashed off, her red hair making her stand out from the chaos as she wove her way through it.

"Come on," said Patrick, smiling, "We don't have all day, or all night for that matter!" He scooped up a small table and Erica grabbed the chairs, taking them to their designated places on the stage. "I'll go back and move the desk, it looks heavy." Patrick said, sitting down the table.

"Okay, I'll set these up." Erica said.

Just as she was finishing, she saw Mark bring another chair onto the stage, only, he didn't put it where it belonged, placing it closer to the edge of the stage.

"What're you doing?" Erica asked.

"Miss Hawthorne told me to put this here," said Mark, "she said it'll make the set look better."

"But what about Natalie?" Erica said, referring to the star actress who was playing Maria, "We've done all the practices with it in one spot, if you move it it'll just be another thing for her to watch out for."

Natalie was extremely nearsighted, so nearsighted, in fact, that without her glasses on, which she had to take off for the play, she could barley identify things four feet away from her. However, she was a brilliant actress, so she had gotten the part.

"She'll be fine," said Mark, "She can deal with it. Miss Hawthorne wouldn't have had me move it otherwise."

"But you know how nearsighted she is!" Erica insisted. "If you don't tell her you put the chair there, she'll probably trip over it and fall off the stage!"

"You're so melodramatic. She'll be fine. Besides, what's the worst that can happen?"

"I really don't want to think about that."

"Don't worry. Go help move the props." With that, he turned and walked off in the direction of the prop pile.

"Don't say I didn't warn you!" Erica yelled after him.

At last, everything was finished and in place. Miss Hawthorne called everyone together backstage for her final instructions.

"Okay everybody!" announced Miss Hawthorne. "This is our dress rehearsal, the play starts tomorrow night at seven. For now, remember your lines, do your best, and don't worry if you mess up. And break a leg!"

"Not literally, I hope." muttered someone in the crowd.

Everyone laughed, except for Erica who was thinking about Natalie and the chair on the stage. _I just _know_ something bad is going to happen. _she thought. She could just picture Natalie falling off the stage and getting hurt. The thought made her stomach turn. _Maybe I am being too melodramatic,_ she thought, _I'm just nervous, that's all._

"Everybody in their places!" said Miss Hawthorne. "Costume and make up crew wait backstage to help with costume changes as we go along. Props and Scenery crews do the same, we'll have to move everything between Acts."

Despite what Erica thought, everything seemed to be going fine and according to plan. She stood offstage by the curtain, watching as they preformed. About forty minutes into the Act, the Tech crew started the music for one of the songs and the actors and actresses began dancing. Then Natalie leaped, spun around, —and tripped over the chair. With a shriek, she toppled over the edge of the stage and into the band pit. Erica's heart stopped. _Oh no. _she thought. Everyone around her froze, shocked. Then people started running everywhere.

After the ambulance left the school parking lot with Natalie in it, everyone grouped around Miss Hawthorne, asking millions of questions and chattering nonstop, trying to figure out what had happened, and why, and what now.

"Who would've thought she'd trip over that chair?" said Mark, looking dazed.

"I _told_ you to tell her you put it there, but did you listen? _No_!" Erica said.

"You don't have to rub it in." hesaid.

"That's beside the point." said Sarah. "Will she be okay?"

"And what about the play?" asked a girl from the Tech crew.

"Is Natalie all right?" said Patrick.

"No," said Miss Hawthorne. "Her ankle's broken. She can't be in the play tomorrow."

"What? But it's tomorrow! There's no _way_ we can find a new lead in that amount of time!" Everyone began protesting as loud as they could, with the result that no one could understand what anyone was saying.

"Quiet!" yelled Miss Hawthorne. "I'm sorry, there's nothing we can do about it. We'll just have to postpone the play until winter."

Karl Kroenen sat at his desk, surrounded by heaps of old books. He tossed another to the side with a snort of disgust, ignoring the thud as it landed in the fireplace and instantly went up in flames.

The fire was reflected on his mask as he leaned back in his chair and surveyed his darkened study, which was now in utter chaos due to his latest project. Fuming and highly irritated, he crossed his arms and thought over the events of the past hours. It just figured that at the exact moment he was going to start one of his "modifications" to himself that Ilsa had chosen to barge into his study, without knocking on the door, and then proceeded to dump this project on him saying that she and Grigory were too busy to do it themselves. Kroenen briefly thought over just _what_ those two were too busy doing, and quickly decided he better not think about that, as it could have nasty complications. He sighed. On top of dumping the project on him, she told him that he had to find some person that the Occult was looking for, but didn't even know who it was. Only that the Occult knew that the person in question was vital to their cause, and that, whoever it was, would be able to see into the future. Ilsa had also mentioned something about an odd, crescent shaped scar on the person, be he hadn't been listening as he had still been seething about her interrupting him.

The clock on the wall chimed the hour, and he glanced up, watching as the planets rotated around the face of the clock. He briefly admired the clock, it had been a little tricky for him to make, to get it to tell the time androtate the planets correctly. Then his eyes fell on a book sitting on top of a pile under the clock. The spine of the book had no title, in its place was a single, silvery crescent shape. Just like the mark Ilsa had mentioned would be on the person they were looking for.

Intrigued, he walked over and picked it up, his gloved fingers tracing the mark on the spine. Engraved into the black leather cover was a crescent, outlined in silver. He opened the cover, and flipped through the fragile and yellowed pages, eyes darting over the foreign, spidery script on the inside. He recognized the odd script as a language that only the higher members of the Occult could read, a forbidden language containing hidden knowledge. Yes, this was what he was looking for.

He returned to his desk, carefully leafing through the pages. He scanned the pages, skipping over prophesized events that had already taken place, searching for the current year. It wasn't hard to find. The book seemed to sense his intentions, for as he turned over a page, the ink on the two pages in front of him lit up, turning the words into a fiery, hellish script. He read the two pages, then laughed out loud.

"So this is the person the Occult is so interested in!" he murmured. "A young woman! I wonder if they know how hard it's going to be to get their hands on her?"

For as the book told him, the young woman in question, was in the future. No matter, a little more research and he'd have that problem worked out as well. After all, from working on the plans for the portal generator, he was learning a lot about how to twist time.

With that, he began getting the things he needed together. He would start ripping a hole through time, tonight!


	2. Visions Come True

**Chapter Two: Visions Come True**

Disclaimer: Hellboy characters do not belong to me. However, Erica is mine.

Author's Notes: Lots of foreshadowing in this chapter, and a lot about Erica is revealed. Thanks for reviewing PsychoLlama! And everybody else reading this, please review! Praise, suggestions and constructive criticism are more than welcome!

After Miss Hawthorne's announcement that the play was postponed until winter, there was nothing left to do except clean up and put things away, and then take turns using each other's cell phones to call home and explain why they had to be picked up so early. Erica sat outside on the sidewalk with the other dejected students waiting for her mom to come get her. She was so gloomy that she didn't even notice the blood red sun starting to disappear over the horizon. _I just knew it was going to happen_, she thought,_ I could have stopped it. And now our play's been postponed…Well, I guess it could have been worse._ That was when she saw her mom's car drive into the parking lot. Erica slung her backpack over her shoulder and walked slowly over to her mom's car.

"You did everything you could, it's not your fault Natalie fell off the stage." said Erica's dad at dinner when she told him about the disaster. "And at least you can be at your sister's middle school concert tomorrow night."

Brittany, her little blond-haired sister, who was in sixth grade, grinned happily.

"Come on Erica," she said, "You only have to wait for a little while, it's not as if your play's been totally canceled."

"Yeah, you're right." said Erica, smiling a little. She just loved how Brittany could cheer her up when she was sad.

After dinner, Erica took a shower, and when she was finished combing the knots out of her long hair, she went into her room and lay on her bed, grabbing a book off her floor to read. She read until she could barely keep her eyes open, and then she marked her place in her book and turned off the light.

In a few minutes, she fell asleep. Unfortunately, her sleep wasn't going to be peaceful this night, or for many, _many_ nights after.

She was in a city. It was beautiful, clear night, so clear that she could see every star in the sky, winking at her like tiny white diamonds. Then the stars blurred, as if they were shivering. Erica stared up at the sky in confusion, and then the ground under her feet started to shake.

The ground buckled and jumped, knocking her off her feet. Buildings swayed ominously, and then began to topple with a terrible roar that made her ears ache.

Then, everything was still.

Suddenly, people were screaming. Close by, a fire was raging unchecked, the waves of heat making the cool night air shimmer and dance. She stood up, and discovered she was drenched, the streets around her were flooded.

CRAAAAACK!

Erica looked up. A huge chunk of a building ripped free and came hurtling down towards her. And there was nowhere to run.

Erica woke up, breathing hard. _It was only a nightmare_, she told herself. But she couldn't make those frightening images disappear. And she felt _terrible_, as if she was going to throw up. The feeling faded quickly, though, so she dismissed it. _It's probably because of my nightmare,_ she thought. Erica glanced at the clock on her bedside table. 3 o'clock in the morning. She turned over, and in another moment, she was sound asleep.

Erica was walking through darkened corridors. She was totally lost, this place was like a maze! She came to a long hall with a high ceiling, at the other end, was a door.

_At last!_ Erica thought. _A way out! Now I can go home!_

She ran towards it. Suddenly, the door changed into a huge widow. Through it, she could see a raging thunderstorm outside.

_Something's wrong_, Erica thought.

Erica stopped halfway down the hall. _I have a bad feeling about this_, she thought. Despite the storm outside, the hall was dead silent. So silent, she could hear a pin drop. Only, it wasn't a pin.

Erica could hear a soft, ticking sound, as if there was a clock somewhere nearby. She looked around, the hallway was empty. She was the only thing in it.

Erica approached the window slowly, feeling drawn to it somehow. As if, she had to look out of it, or, when she came to it, something important was going to happen. The window was only twenty feet away. The ticking grew louder. Fifteen feet. The ticking was louder, closer. Ten feet. The ticking was deafening, she could hear nothing else, it echoed off the walls, surrounding her. Erica stopped, standing in place, ten feet from the window, the ticking filling her ears.

It stopped. Everything was silent.

The air turned bitterly cold. The back of her neck prickled. Someone was behind her! She spun around to face the hall — but no one was there. She looked around uneasily. A bolt of lightning flashed outside the window, lighting the hall with an eerie, electric blue light. Thunder crashed behind her, startling her, and Erica spun around.

Someone was standing in front of her!

He was silhouetted against the storm outside the window, and was completely dressed in black. His face was covered in shadow, or maybe by a mask. He stood still, and she got the feeling he was staring at her, though she couldn't see his face. He was staring through her, his invisible gaze piercing her to the heart. He was searching for something. Something she had. And all she knew was that she was afraid of him. Erica couldn't move, she couldn't scream, she couldn't do anything, but feel that terrible, cold gaze on her.

He stood as still as a statue, watching her.

With a terrified shriek, Erica tore herself away, and ran down the hall, feeling that relentless gaze, that cold, dark, stare on her back, pursuing her as she ran, though he never moved. She had to get away, she couldn't let him catch her, couldn't let him see—

The darkness in the hall was closing in on her, trying to catch her, capture her—

Erica couldn't let the darkness catch her, couldn't—

BUUUUUUUZZZZZZZZZZZZZ!

Her alarm clock went off.

Erica's eyes flew open and she sat up with a jump, her heart hammering in her chest. She reached over and turned off the alarm, and then just sat on the edge of her bed. _Saved by the bell_, Erica thought.

She got up and got dressed, then brushed her hair and headed downstairs for breakfast. Her mom was already up, she was drinking coffee and watching the news in the kitchen.

"Good morning." she said, seeing Erica. "There's oranges and hard boiled eggs on the counter that you can have with breakfast."

"Thanks." Erica said, pouring herself a glass of milk and putting a bagel in the toaster.

She grabbed an orange and sat down at the table, unpeeling it and eating it while she waited for her bagel to finish toasting.

"You look tired this morning." her mother said.

"Yeah, I didn't sleep very well," Erica said, "I had nightmares all night."

"Sorry to hear that," she looked at the clock on the wall, "Is your sister up yet?"

"I think so." Erica said, even though she had no idea. She just didn't want to have to go wake Brittany up. Brittany was _not_ a morning person.

Erica looked up at the TV. It was the same old news, traffic jams, some lady's purse had been stolen, who won the football game last night, _boring_.

She was just about to get her bagel out of the toaster, when:

"And now to our main story." announced the newscaster. "Last night, at about three o'clock in the morning, California was struck by a massive earthquake that ranked a 6 on the Richter scale—"

Erica stopped, her hand still reaching for her bagel, her full attention on the TV. _An earthquake? _she thought,_ Didn't I have a nightmare about that last night?_

The newscaster continued.

"This earthquake has devastated California. The streets are flooded for miles, and a fire has completely destroyed several blocks…."

_It's exactly like my dream_. Erica thought, staring horrified at the television. _The fires, the flooding, even the time! Didn't I wake up at three o'clock last night?_

"That's terrible! Can you imagine, those poor people!" said her mother. She turned around and saw Erica staring at the TV.

"Erica, are you all right? You look sick."

Erica snapped back to reality.

"Yes. Fine. It's nothing." Erica said, forcing a smile.

"Well, I'm going to see if your sister's up yet and then get ready for work. Don't forget your lunch, it's on the counter. And Brittany's concert is tonight. Have a good day at school!"

"Thanks." said Erica, as her mother left the kitchen.

_It's got to be a coincidence_, Erica thought, looking back at the TV. _Just a coincidence_.

But somehow, she couldn't shake the feeling that it hadn't been a coincidence at all.

Even when she got to school she still felt uneasy. She kept thinking about her nightmare and the news about the earthquake. And then there was yesterday, when she had had a bad feeling about Mark putting that prop on the stage, she had just _known_ that something bad was going to happen. And how _had_ she known about the pop quiz? Could it have all been luck? Just coincidence?

"Erica!"

"What?" she said, suddenly realizing that someone was talking to her.

"Could you please summarize what I've been talking about for the past thirty minutes?" asked Mrs. Jones. "Or have you been devoting your class time to something you think is more interesting then Geometry?"

Erica's mind raced. What _was_ she supposed to be doing?

"Well? Do you or do you not know what we've been talking about?"

"No." Erica answered finally.

"Remember to pay attention in the future, please. Now, if you'll all please copy the postulates on the board, you too Erica…"

"So, did you like the concert?" asked Brittany.

"It was wonderful." said Erica, "It was very impressive for middle school students."

They were standing outside of Brittany's middle school, waiting for their parents to finish talking to the band teacher and some of the other students' parents. The night air was chilly, and the stars twinkled overhead next to a pale, crescent moon. Seeing the shape of the moon, Erica involuntarily touched the crescent scar on her upper left arm. She had never found out how she'd gotten it, as far as she knew, she'd been born with it. Still, sometimes she wondered about it…

Brittany glanced back to where their mom and dad were standing with the other parents by the school's door, chatting in the night air.

"Think they'll _ever_ finish?" Brittany asked.

"Of course they will." said Erica, shaking off her thoughts, "Why don't you introduce me to some of your friends in the meantime?"

Brittany led her over to one of the groups of students standing nearby in the school's parking lot.

"Emma, Ashley, Katrina," said Brittany, introducing some of them, "this is my sister Erica."

"Hi," said Erica. Suddenly she didn't feel very well.

"Hi." they answered back, then pulled Brittany closer and began chattering in lowered voices with occasional outbursts of giggling.

Erica stood on the sidewalk ignoring them, she was more concerned about the fact that she suddenly felt very sick, like she was going to throw up. _Maybe I was wrong last night that I felt bad because of my nightmare. I'm probably getting the flu. _she thought. _And it's probably just as well that the play got postponed, I'd be useless feeling like this._

She looked up at her sister, about to call Brittany over to tell her they had to get their parents and go home right away, when something strange happened. Everything around her went out of focus and blurred around the edges. Then things started to sway dizzyingly around her.

_Oh no, _she thought, _I'm _definitely _going to be sick now._

Just when she thought she was going to throw up, things went back to normal. Except that she had a really bad feeling in her stomach. She looked over to Brittany, when she saw a pair of headlights appear around the corner of the road. A car was coming.

"Brittany, get out of the road, a car's coming." said Erica.

Her sister continued talking with her friends as if she hadn't heard what Erica had said. Erica looked down the road again, the car was coming closer, and was driving _way_ above the speed limit. And it was driving _in the wrong lane_.

"Brittany! Get out of the road!" Erica screamed.

No response, Brittany kept talking. The parents by the school door didn't seem to notice the commotion either. Erica looked down the road, the car was only a few meters away!

"Brittany!" she shrieked.

But it was too late, the car plowed straight into the group of girls!

Erica stood there staring, totally horrified. In fact, she was so shocked that time seemed to stand still, paused exactly at the moment as the car ran into her sister and the group of girls. But as she stood there staring, just waiting for time to start up again— it didn't. Erica looked around, confused. The scene around her blurred and then flickered. _I've gone into shock._ she thought. _I'm going to faint._ But she didn't. Instead, she suddenly found herself standing on the sidewalk in front of the school, and Brittany and her friends were standing in the parking lot talking, and totally unharmed, not a car in sight.

_What the—? _Erica thought.

The bad feeling was still in her stomach. Compulsively, she looked down the road. A pair of headlights appeared around the corner, on _the wrong side of the road_. Erica, didn't think, she simply acted.

"Get out of the road!" she screamed.

She dashed into the road and grabbed the girls, pulling them back to the safety of the sidewalk.

"What're you doing?" one of the girls yelled, trying to pull away. The commotion on the sidewalk attracted the parents' attention, and they looked toward Erica and the girls.

A second later, the car came screaming down the road and into the parking lot, its tires squealing. It ran right through where the girls had been standing a few seconds ago, drove off the side of the road, and crashed into a tree.

The parents by the door looked from the car to where Erica stood on the sidewalk, gripping Brittany and her friends tightly, and staring at the wrecked car, shaking.

"Oh my god!" a woman shouted, "That car almost hit them!"

The parents rushed in all directions, some to get their kids, others to the wreck, some to call the police, and the rest ran towards Erica and the girls.

Brittany looked up at her sister in awe. "You saved my life." Brittany said numbly.

Slowly, Erica let go of the girls, she was still staring at the wrecked car, and shaking uncontrollably. _How did I—? Can I—? _she thought. That was when her mom and dad got there with the other parents. Brittany's friends ran over to their parents.

"Are you guys alright?" asked their dad.

Erica didn't answer, staring vacantly into space as her mind raced.

"Yes, we're fine." said Brittany.

"Come on, let's go home." said their mother shakily. "Erica?"

_My nightmare_, she thought,_ my bad feeling about the play, the pop quiz — They all came true. How did I know? How _can_ I know? Am I making these things happen? Or can I really see—_

Erica slowly turned, tears sparkling in her eyes, to face her mother. That was when one of Brittany's friend's parents interrupted.

"Thank you for saving my daughter," he said, "you're very lucky."

"Yes, very lucky." said someone's mother. "How'd you know?"

Erica couldn't take it anymore. She was so confused, and scared, and — she burst into tears and ran towards their car in the parking lot.

"Let's go home." said her dad.

After they got home, Erica's parents had finally gotten her to calm down. Or, at least, they thought so. Inside, Erica was confused. There were too many questions, too many possibilities, too many "what if?"s running wild through her head. And somewhere, caught up in it all, was something she pushed away, not daring to think it or even consider it. _It can't be, it just can't._ Erica thought. Everything was changing, or already changed, or about to— if she dared think that— She shook her head, trying to clear her thoughts as she went upstairs to her room. She lay down on her bed, just staring at the wall and trying not to think at all. _It'll all be better in the morning_, she told herself as she turned out the light on her bedside table.

She lay there in the dark for what seemed like hours, just trying not to think. Soon, trying not to think turned into dozing, and dozing turned into sleep.

Erica was walking through dark corridors. She was totally lost, this place was a maze! She came to a long hall with a high ceiling, at the other end, was a door. She ran towards it. Suddenly, the door changed into a huge widow. Through it, she could see a raging thunderstorm outside.

_Something's wrong_, Erica thought.

Erica stopped halfway down the hall. _I have a very bad feeling about this_, she thought nervously. Despite the storm outside, the hall was quiet. So quiet that she could hear a soft, ticking sound, as if there was a clock somewhere nearby. She looked around, the hallway was empty. She was the only thing in it. Despite this, the ticking didn't stop, but continued very softly, seeming to come from near the window.

Erica approached the window slowly, feeling drawn to it somehow. As if, she had to look out of it, or, when she came to it, something important was going to happen.

The air turned bitterly cold, and the ticking got slightly louder the closer she walked to the window. The back of her neck prickled. Someone was behind her! She spun around to face the hall — but no one was there. She looked around uneasily. A bolt of lightning flashed outside the window, lighting the hall with an eerie, electric blue light. Thunder crashed behind her, startling her, and Erica spun around.

Someone was standing in front of her!

He was silhouetted against the storm outside the window, dressed in black, his face covered in a mask or hidden in shadow. Somehow, she knew the soft ticking was coming from him. He stared intently at her, his invisible gaze piercing her heart. He was searching for something. Something she had. She was terrified of him. Erica couldn't move, she couldn't scream, she couldn't do anything, but feel that terrible, cold gaze on her.

He stood as still as a statue, watching her.

With a terrified shriek, Erica tore herself away, and ran down the hall, feeling that relentless gaze, that cold, dark, stare on her back, pursuing her as she ran, though he never moved. She had to get away, she couldn't let him catch her, couldn't let him see—

The darkness in the hall was closing in on her, trying to catch her, capture her—

Erica couldn't let the darkness catch her, couldn't—

BUUUUUUUZZZZZZZZZZZZZ!

It was her alarm clock. Friday morning, time to get up and go to school.

_Saved again_, she thought, breathing hard, as if she had really been running. She shuddered, the dream was so, well, _real_. And it was really weird to have the same nightmare twice. Feeling disconcerted, she got up and got ready for school, brushing aside any thoughts about what had happened yesterday.

Unfortunately, Erica wasn't able to get away from what had happened yesterday night. Evidently some reporters had gotten a hold of the story, and it was on the front page of the Friday morning paper in bold headlines, which meant that her entire high school had found out about it. Everyone was talking about how she had saved the little girls from the drunk driver, and strangers in the hallways kept coming up to her and trying to ask her questions. The people in her classes whispered and pointed at her as if they thought she didn't notice. It was very distracting, and made it even harder to concentrate on her schoolwork, with her head already filled with so many questions. She tried to ignore them, but they just kept resurfacing. By third period she had given up doing anything for the rest of the day. She couldn't think straight, and all those questions she couldn't face were giving her a headache.

Lunch wasn't much better, she sat at the table half-heartedly toying with the food on her lunch tray, while her friends looked at her anxiously. Her next class was simply _terrible_, her teacher went on at length about how Erica was a hero. Erica sat at her desk, having slid down as far as she could in her seat, and blushing bright red with embarrassment. _I wish I could just disappear,_ she thought miserably, her head aching. _I can't wait to go home. I'm so glad we're off of school on Monday so we have a three day weekend. Maybe this'll all die down and things will go back to normal. _

How wrong she was. Things would never be what she would call "normal" again.

"Did you have a good day at school?" asked her mom.

"No." Erica moaned, dropping her backpack by the door, "I've got a headache."

"Go take something for it and rest for a little." her mom said, "When you feel better you can start packing."

"Packing? Packing for what?" asked Erica, confused.

"For your train trip to Mandy's house," her mom said. Seeing that Erica was still confused, she elaborated. "You know, Mandy, your friend who moved two states away? You've been looking forward to this for weeks."

"Oh! Yeah, now I remember," said Erica, wondering how she had forgotten about it.

"That's if you're still going, you've been looking sick lately, and with what happened last night—"

"No, no. It's fine. I still want to go," she said, not wanting to hear another word about last night. "I'll go start packing."

Erica went upstairs to her room and pulled her suitcase out of her closet. She went to her dresser and started packing, double checking that she had everything she needed, because she wouldn't be back home until Monday night. For a time, she could just focus on what she was doing, and not have to think. Unnoticed, her headache gradually faded away. After she was finished packing, she ate dinner, then took a shower, laid out her clothes for the next day, and went to bed.

Just as she reached to turn out the light, she hesitated, remembering the nightmare she'd had for the past two nights in a row. And that nightmare brought back all her unanswered questions, the ones she couldn't think about—

"It's just a nightmare," she said aloud, as if this would make it true. "It can't hurt me. It's not real."

Feeling slightly reassured, she turned out the light. But the instant it went out, her reassurance began to die away. Her eyes darted around the room, staring at the shadows so hard that her eyes began to play tricks on her and she saw nameless things that she knew couldn't possibly be there.

_I wish I had a nightlight,_ she thought, then, _Am I really afraid of the dark? I'm acting like a kid! I'm not afraid of the dark!_

But something inside her seemed to say that she ought to be, and that she should be afraid not only of the dark, but also what was hidden within in it.

Gradually, she fell into a restless sleep.

Kroenen's study was in an even worse state of disarray then it had been to begin with. Besides the piles of books, inkwells, and other clutter from his research, there were several new additions of arcane and bizarre looking objects that cast strange shadows over his already dim study. But Kroenen, who was normally fastidious in keeping his study neat, didn't care. He had nearly succeeded in tearing a hole through time, every night he had gotten closer to his goal, knew more about her. He even knew her name now, which would make it easier for him to pull her through the portal. Or, alternately, he could always try to trick her into coming through on her own. All that was left between him and that girl was a thin, transparent barrier. And through it, he could see her dreams, and in a way, she could see him, as her dream was really more of a warning to her, warning her to stay away from him, to try to prevent what was inevitably going to happen. He chuckled inwardly. Such an innocent, untrained novice like her would have no idea that her "dream" was even going to come true, let alone know it was also a warning. And that would make her extremely vulnerable to being persuaded into helping the Occult.

_Why is this girl so important?_ he wondered. True, as both Ilsa and the book had said, the girl could or would be able to tell the future. But Grigory could do that, too. Perhaps she was important because she knew what was going to happen, after all, she was coming from their future. Searching for the answer, Kroenen picked up the black book on his desk, leafing through the pages until he came to the two pages with the words that glowed like fire. Behind his mask, his lidless eyes scanned down the text, until he found what he was looking for. Apparently, some of the things she could see would come true, but others were just possibilities of what _might_ happen if events played out a certain way. Closing the book, he tossed it back onto his desk.

_Silly little fool_, he thought, remembering how she had tried to run away from him the past two nights. She couldn't escape him, not in her dreams, and not in reality.

He paced around a chalk circle marked on the floor, adding new symbols around the crescent in the center, and placing candles and different carved stones within it. As he lit the last candle, the huge, transparent, bubble-like barrier floating above the circle rippled. The ripples got bigger until the entire surface of the barrier was shuddering. Slowly, slowly, it began to pull apart, and the smallest of holes appeared in its surface. Gazing up at the bubble, Kroenen smirked behind his mask. He would stay just a bit longer to torment the girl's dreams, but after that, he was going to have to tell Ilsa to organize a search party to find the girl. After all, the rip in time only transported the girl to this time, it didn't specify exactly _where_ in Germany it was going to drop her, which he found very amusing, picturing her landing in a lake. And if Ilsa had to search every corner of Germany looking for that girl, then Ilsa certainly deserved it for dumping this project on him. Except there was the chance that if she had to look for too long, that she'd make him help her.

"Not long now," he muttered, watching the small hole stretch as other rips appeared across the surface of the bubble.


	3. A Shadow of a Doubt

**Chapter Three: A Shadow of a Doubt**

Disclaimer: Hellboy characters do not belong to me. However, Erica is mine.

Author's Notes: Thanks again for the review Psycho Llama! Poor Erica, her nightmares won't leave her alone, but soon she'll have to face the reality of what she can do. Also, some minor humor at Kroenen's expense. Please Review!

Erica was walking through dark corridors, completely disoriented. _This place is like a maze!_ she thought. She came to a long hall with a high ceiling, at the other end, was a huge widow. Through it, she could see a raging thunderstorm outside.

_Something's wrong_, Erica thought, _And this is sort of…familiar. Have I been here before?_

Erica stopped halfway down the hall. _I have a very bad feeling about this_, she thought nervously. Despite the storm outside, the hall was quiet. So quiet that she could hear a soft, ticking sound, as if there was a clock somewhere nearby. But the hallway was empty, she was the only thing in it. Despite this, the ticking continued very softly, seeming to come from near the window.

Erica approached the window slowly, feeling drawn to it somehow. As if, when she came to it, something important was going to happen.

The air turned bitterly cold, and the ticking got louder the closer she walked to the window. The back of her neck prickled. Someone was behind her! She spun around to face the hall — but no one was there. She looked around uneasily. A bolt of lightning flashed outside the window, lighting the hall with an eerie, electric blue light. Thunder crashed behind her, startling her, and Erica spun around.

Someone was standing in front of her!

He was silhouetted against the storm outside the window, dressed in black, his face covered by a mask. The soft ticking was coming from him. He stared intently at her, his invisible gaze piercing her heart. He was searching for something, he was determined to find it. Then she realized the terrible truth: He was looking for her. He was looking for what she refused to believe she could do. And in that moment of realization, she was terrified of him. He stood still, watching her, his terrible gaze slicing into her.

Then he moved, ever so slightly, so his eyes, hidden by his mask, were looking directly into her face.

"Erica…" he hissed softly.

He had found what he was looking for.

Erica's eyes widened in fear.

"Erica…" he whispered. Slowly, he held out his hand. "Erica, come with me…"

"NO!" she shrieked.

Erica turned and ran, feeling his relentless gaze, that penetrating, dark stare on her back, pursuing her as she ran. She had to get away, she couldn't let him catch her—

"You can run," his voice hissed after her, "but you cannot escape."

The shadows in the hall swirled around her. And there were voices in the shadows.

"She must be found!" one man's voice demanded. "We must find her!"

"Have no fear, we are close, so very close to finding her. By each passing moment she is closer." said another man, his voice full of confidence and authority.

The voices surrounded her, even as the shadows closed in around her.

"She has been found!" hissed one voice triumphantly.

His words echoed in the darkness.

"She has been found!"

She ran, gasping for breath, trying to escape—

The shadows were reaching out with shapeless claws to catch her—

"She has been found!"

—Trying to catch her, capture her—

"She has been found!"

Erica couldn't let the darkness catch her, couldn't—

— it was all around her, there was no where to go, she couldn't escape—

BUUUUUUUZZZZZZZZZZZZZ!

Erica woke up screaming.

She suddenly realized what she was doing and stopped, praying she hadn't woken up everyone in the house. Everything was quiet, no one had heard her.

Automatically, she reached over and turned her alarm off.

_Thank God for alarm clocks!_ she thought.

But she had the strangest feeling that it wasn't going to save her again.

She lay there for a moment, trying to calm down. Her sheets and pajamas were soaked with sweat, and she had knocked her pillow off the bed. Her heart was racing, and her throat was raw. _Probably from screaming like that,_ she thought. _I have _got_ to get rid of this nightmare!_

She shuddered, remembering the dark hall and the strange man's words. How had he known her name? Why was he looking for her? And what did he mean that she couldn't escape? And those other voices, were they talking about her? And what did that one mean, saying she had been found?

_Stop it,_ she scolded herself, _it's only a nightmare, and you're treating it as if it were real._

That was the problem, it was so _real_. Sort of like how real it had seemed when she had almost sworn her sister was hit by a — _No! I will _not _think about that! This isn't anything like that, it's just a nightmare, not a— _

Compulsively, she got up and went into the bathroom, where she took a cold shower, hoping it would clear her head.

Opera music from a phonograph played softly in the background of the study. Kroenen stood, facing the barrier floating in the middle of the darkened room. He supposed he should be pleased, at least the girl was intelligent enough not to be tricked into coming through the barrier. But now he was going to have to forcibly pull her through, and that meant waiting until the barrier shattered.

About a half an hour ago he had informed Grigory that the girl would be in Germany soon, and Ilsa had gone off to organize the search and to contact various members of the Occult. Kroenen watched the barrier. It was covered in so many holes, cracks, and rips that it was amazing that it managed to hold together at all, and he knew it wouldn't for much longer. He estimated that within an hour's time, Erica would find herself in Germany. He turned, reaching for a small clock on his desk, and in the process, nearly tripped over a heap of books. Kroenen cursed in irritation. While he was waiting, and since they were going to have a "guest" soon, he supposed he should clean up his study.

Erica's shower helped, but not much. She was still preoccupied, something was bothering her, but what?

"I probably forgot to pack something," she lied to herself as she got dressed. For today she had picked out flared jeans, and a form fitting purple T-shirt. She put her hair in a ponytail, put on her silver cross necklace that she always wore, and then headed downstairs to breakfast.

The rest of her family was already in the kitchen, just about to sit down to enjoy a pile of hot, steaming pancakes heaped on a plate in the center of the table.

"Good morning," Erica said, sitting down, "Those look really good!"

"I thought I'd make a good breakfast so you wouldn't get hungry on train ride." her mom said. "By the way, did you know that they've finished restoring the train station? It's supposed to look exactly the way it did before WWII, and I've heard that it's absolutely beautiful."

"No, I didn't know that," Erica said, bolting down her pancakes.

"Don't eat so fast, you'll make yourself sick." scolded Brittany, smiling.

"As if you have any room to talk, little sister." said Erica, laughing.

"When you finish your breakfast," said her dad, "I'll dive you to the train station."

Just as they were about to leave, her mom stopped them at the door.

"Here, Erica. I bought your ticket ahead of time so you wouldn't have to wait in line."

"Thanks!" said Erica, turning to leave.

"Have fun!" her mom called after them.

"Bye!" yelled Brittany.

"Bye! See you soon!" Erica yelled back.

But what Erica didn't know, was that she wasn't going to see them soon, let alone ever again.

Erica said goodbye to her dad, and then got out of the car, carrying her suitcase. Her dad drove away as Erica looked up at the outside of the train station. _Wow,_ she thought, _they've done a lovely job of restoring it. I can't wait to see what it looks like inside._

She walked toward the doors. Suddenly, her foot caught on something, and she tripped. She didn't go very far. She had barely fallen an inch before she crashed into what felt like a wall, then toppled through it to land in a heap on the ground.

"Ow." she mumbled.

"Are you alright, Miss?" asked a heavily accented voice.

She looked up to see a young man looking down at her. The wall it felt like she had fallen into was nowhere in sight.

"Yes, I just tripped, that's all." she said, blushing in embarrassment as she stood up.

He handed her suitcase to her, smiling. "Just be more careful in the future," he said. "Have a nice day!"

Erica stared after him as the young man walked away. He was dressed very oddly, in the kind of clothes you saw people wearing in WWII films. And what was with his accent? She shrugged it off, maybe the train station had hired people to pretend they were from the era when the station was originally built. After all, she knew they did that in colonial Williamsburg, so why not here?

Kroenen was just putting the last books on the shelves, when he heard an ominous creaking come from the barrier behind him. He turned to face it, the firelight glistening on the barrier's glassy surface. He watched as it appeared to vibrate in place, the creaking becoming even louder as sections of the barrier twisted. Within it, he saw the shadowy form of the girl trip and fall against the side of the barrier that was in her time. The barrier, stretched and twisted to the breaking point, couldn't take the strain anymore. It shattered.

The pieces exploded outward in a perfect sphere shape, and for a second, Kroenen could see the shadowy form of the girl falling. Then the pieces of the sphere flew backwards to reform the barrier. It floated bubble-like above the floor, completely whole. And through it, Kroenen could see that the girl was gone, she had disappeared from her time. He turned to his desk where he picked up a chunk of polished black crystal. He threw it at the barrier, and both promptly disappeared. He walked over to a mirror hanging nearby on the wall. Instead of seeing his reflection, he saw Erica standing up and talking to a young man outside a train station. She didn't look the least bit startled or worried, just a little embarrassed at falling. Which could mean only one thing: she hadn't even noticed that anything had happened.

Kroenen laughed wickedly. This was just _too_ perfect.

Erica entered the train station, still a little flustered about falling down. _I feel like such an idiot,_ she thought,_ tripping over nothing and then falling flat on my face. _And on top of that, she couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong. _It's nothing, _she told herself, _And I am _not_ going to think about that—_

Her train of thought halted as her eyes fell on the interior of the station.

_Wow,_ she thought, completely in awe, _they did an absolutely perfect job at restoring this place._

Erica briefly glanced at the train schedule. Her train was on time. She got out her train ticket and checked the platform number printed on it, then headed off in the direction of platform three.

As she walked, she couldn't help but notice that all the people she passed were staring at her, as if they had never seen a teenage girl before. _And_ all of them were dressed funny, just like the young man that had helped her outside the station.

_This is really weird_. she thought, looking around nervously. The bad feeling she had got stronger.

Once she reached the platform, she sat down on a bench to wait for the train, putting her suitcase down next to her. As she sat down, she noticed a small group of people standing nearby, staring at her and talking to each other in some other language.

Trying to ignore them, Erica took out a book from a pocket on the outside of her suitcase, and tried to read. But it was almost impossible. Other people were showing up on the platform to wait, and _all_ of them started whispering and pointing at her when they saw her. It was extremely disconcerting.

Erica shifted nervously on the bench, self consciously tucking a piece of hair behind her ear, looking forward to getting on the train so she could get away from these people. Something moved nearby, and her gray eyes flicked toward it. There were two men standing a short distance away, both of them in uniforms.

Just then, the train rolled into the platform, catching her attention and she dismissed the men as security personnel for the station. She put her book away and picked up her suitcase, admiring the train and she walked towards it. Even the train fit the station, it was a steam engine. Erica smiled. Despite the people on the platform that had been whispering and pointing at her, this was kind of cool.

She climbed the stairs and entered one of the train cars, appreciative of the hard work it must have taken to restore its interior. She found a seat and flopped down on the cushions, took her book out of her suitcase and settled down comfortably in her seat. But here again she was interrupted by voices whispering in another language that sounded like German. She looked up from her book to find that the other people on the train were staring at her. And they were dressed just like the people in the station. Erica swallowed hard as she felt her stomach turn. She couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong, _very_ wrong here. She forced herself to look back down and read, just as the train left the station.

The sound of the door of the train car opening made her look up again. Three men entered the train car, and judging by their uniforms they were probably more security personnel, or maybe in some branch of the military. Erica went back to reading, she wasn't doing anything wrong, so she didn't have to worry about it. Besides, they were probably passengers anyway.

She heard the men asking several of the passengers questions in multiple languages, sometimes French, other times German. Despite the feeling in her stomach that told her something just wasn't right, she tried to ignore the men, even as they made their way up the aisle towards her, talking among themselves in German. As she turned the page in her book, she heard a man clear his throat and she looked up, the three men were standing in the aisle right next to her seat. The instant she looked up, the man that looked to be in charge, or an officer of some sort, proceeded to spout off a sentence of, what sounded to her at least, absolute gibberish.

"I'm sorry," Erica said politely, "But I don't speak German."

"Don't speak German?" the man asked, this time in heavily accented English. He sounded surprised.

"No," she said, "Only English, like most people in the United States."

At her words the uniformed men scowled and looked at her suspiciously. Just as she was wondering what she had said to make them scowl, the officer shot another question at her.

"May I see your passport, Miss?"

"What?" said Erica, feeling very confused.

"Passport. Your papers."

"Papers? What papers?" she said.

"Your identification papers." he said, as if he was talking to someone incredibly stupid.

"I don't — wait," she said reaching into her pants pocket. She pulled out her ID card from her high school and handed it to the officer.

He took it, and glanced at it briefly. The other two men muttered something in German. Vaguely, Erica noticed that the other passengers were watching them intently.

"Erica Schwarz?" the officer asked, smirking in a way that unnervingly reminded Erica of a cat that has a mouse trapped.

"Yes, that's right." she said, hoping he was satisfied and would go away.

"I don't know if Erica Schwarz is or is not your real name, but you're under arrest."

"What!" Erica said, shocked. "But I haven't done anything!"

"You are under arrest for being a potential informant on our country, as well as for not traveling with your identification papers, and for faking a poor excuse for a passport."

"You think I'm a spy?" Erica said incredulously, "You're out of your mind! And since _when_ have people in the United States had to carry around ID papers or passports for just traveling a state away!"

"You are also under arrest for being affiliated with the Americans." added the officer.

"What?" Erica said in disbelief, too shocked to come up with something else.

"Now, if you will come with us, when we reach the next train station we will escort you to the nearest prison."

She was just about to argue with him, when she saw an embroidered patch on the officer's military uniform. It was a_ swastika_. Horrified, she looked at the other men's uniforms. They were wearing the same symbol. At that moment, a sort of realization began to dawn on her, making her blood run cold.

"Get up, Miss." the officer said.

Slowly, she stood up, her heart racing.

"Follow me." he said, leading the way to an empty train car.

Erica walked with the air of a condemned person. The two other Nazi soldiers followed behind her, as if to make sure she wouldn't escape. _As if I could go anywhere on a moving train_, she thought. As she left with the soldiers, she could see the other people on the train staring at her with knowing looks.

When they entered the empty train car, the officer took a seat and indicated that she should sit in the seat across from him. Slowly, as if she were moving through frozen mud, she sat down, despite the fact that every fiber of her being was screaming at her to run before it was too late. She knew that to run would be a certain death sentence. She had nowhere to go, and she knew that the soldiers wouldn't hesitate to shoot her, especially since they thought she was a spy. Once she sat down, the other two soldiers took the seats across the aisle where they could keep an eye on her. Not a word was spoken, leaving her plenty of time to think and to try to figure out what had happened.

_All the people speaking German, _she thought, _the train, the train station, the men in uniforms—_It all came to one conclusion. She was somehow, someway, in WWII Germany. _Could I really be?_ she thought, _And if I am, how did I get here?_ _I've heard of time travel, but this is unreal! And how did this happen to begin with?_

A sudden thought occurred to her. WWII Germany was _not_ a good place for an American to be, especially one suspected of being a spy. Her eyes shot over to the officer. He was watching her, his blue eyes glinting in an expression somewhere between victory and menace. Quickly, she looked away, her thoughts still racing to make sense of her situation.

The last time she knew for sure that she had been in her correct time, was as her father drove away in the car, _right before she tripped_. It had been _after_ she tripped that the strangely dressed young man had spoken to her. And because her mother had told her that the train station had been restored, she hadn't suspected anything until it was too late. So whatever had happened to bring her here must have happened at the exact moment she tripped. And just _what_ had she tripped over? The sidewalk had been clear. And then there was the issue of the wall she thought she had fallen into, and then had gone _through_ it—

The train went over a bump, jarring her out of her thoughts. The scenery flashed by outside the windows, and the train rocked back and forth as it went along. Erica suddenly noticed that one of the soldiers had brought her suitcase with him. The scenery outside the windows changed. They were coming up on a German town, and therefore, a train station. Erica sat up stiffly in her seat, her apprehension doubling. Absentmindedly, she fiddled with her cross necklace, unable to do anything but pray that she'd be safe.

At the prison, Erica sat on a bench outside a pair of enormous wood doors, waiting apprehensively. The military officer had gone through the doors to talk to someone, taking her suitcase with him, presumably to search it. This left her in the company of the two soldiers, who were smirking.

The doors swung open silently.

"Get up." one of the soldiers said.

Erica stood up, her heart racing, and walked through the doors accompanied by the two soldiers. The doors led into a room that was, like the rest of the prison, built of gray stone. The entire feel of the place gave her the feeling that it hadn't originally been a prison, but had been converted to that use. Inside the room, was a big desk, made of a dark wood that was nearly black. And seated at that desk, was a man who was clearly of a high rank in the military. The man's eyes glittered dangerously. He was obviously _not_ someone you wanted to piss off.

Behind her, the doors swung shut in a very final sounding thud that echoed in the stone room. Once the echo died away, the man sitting at the desk spoke in accented English.

"I am Hans Schenck. I have been told that you are an American spy. Spies are being shot."

"But I'm _not_ a spy!" Erica burst out. "America doesn't hire 15 year old girls as spies!"

He smiled unpleasantly. "I too thought that was an unreasonable assumption. But that leaves several questions to which, at the present, are very lacking in answers. Questions such as: Who are you? And what are you doing in Germany if you are American? You are clearly not German."

Erica nearly sighed with relief when she heard that he didn't think she was a spy, and that she was, for the present, out of danger of being shot. She hesitated to answer him. But then again, the only way she was going to figure things out would be through talking. Desperately hoping she wasn't making a serious mistake, she answered him.

"I'm Erica Schwarz. And I _am_ German. Well, at least I'm half German, half Irish."

"Obviously the Irish half is more dominate." he said, his icy eyes never leaving her. "But you still haven't answered the other question. What are you doing in Germany?"

Erica's mind froze. _What can I say? I don't even know how I got here, let alone explain to him what I'm doing here!_ she thought.

"I'm waiting." he said, "What are you doing here?" This time when he said it, there was a dangerous tone in his voice.

_What can I say? If I lie I'm sure he'll find out! And if I don't say anything—!_ In her chest her heart was racing as fast as her mind. There was nothing she could say. He would never believe the truth. But staying silent would be nearly as bad as lying!

He seemed to sense her inner turmoil, and grinned cruelly, his ice blue eyes glinting. Erica knew she had to say something—

"I don't know." she said at last.

He was just opening his mouth to speak, when Erica suddenly got a sharp sinking feeling in her stomach like she was going to throw up. But she knew that she wasn't sick, and she was nowhere near enough upset enough to feel nauseous. That left one possibility, the one she had been running from, refusing to face. _It_ was going to happen, again.

_Oh no_, Erica thought. _Of all the places for it to happen, it has to be_ now_? I _really_ can't deal with this right now._ Regardless of that, her symptoms showed no signs of going away, but got even worse to the point where she swayed involuntarily, feeling lightheaded and dizzy. Schenck looked at her and said something, but she couldn't hear him. Her head was spinning, the entire room was rocking crazily, and she was so nauseous she was amazed that she hadn't thrown up yet. Everything blurred around the edges, and then something seemed to split, reality was torn to shreds around her with terrible wrenching sounds that threatened to burst her eardrums. The stone room with the desk was gone. Flames shot up around her, and she threw her arms up to protect herself from the searing blasts of heat that threatened to knock her over. Billowing, oily black smoke from the blazing fire made her eyes water uncontrollably as it roiled upwards like a living thing. Something made her look up, and when she did, she saw a blasted, desolate city engulfed in flames. The overcast sky was burning too, the hellish red and orange clouds streaked with black smoke. And coming through the clouds were huge, monstrous _tentacles_. Despite the fact that the intense heat was singeing her skin, Erica stared, open mouthed, frozen in place by fear and awe. The tentacles waved overhead, and one of them seemed to sense she was there. As she gazed upwards in terror, it swung towards her as if to pick her up. Just as it was about to reach her, everything started spinning, and the ground buckled and flipped, knocking her off her feet—

— and she was reaching out for Schenck's desk. Erica grabbed the edge, trying to steady herself on legs that were shaking uncontrollably. Her heart was racing in her chest, and she could hear herself gasping for breath. Somehow she forced herself to look up, and saw Schenck staring back at her, shaken and visibly taken aback. But even more frightening was that Erica could see her face reflected in his eyes, and her black pupils were huge and full of flickering, dying flames. Just as she looked away, she smelled something burning, and released her death-grip on the edge of his desk. Where she had touched the wood, she had left behind perfect impressions of her hands, burned deep into the surface of the desk.

Erica backed up shakily, staring at the burn marks, then at her hands. Her palms were red and scalded looking, as if she had touched the burner on a stove.

She looked up, and saw Schenck looking from her, to his desk, to her burned hands. After a long pause, in which he seemed to be gathering his thoughts, he directed a question at her. This time his voice was more polite, but there was something else hidden in it that almost sounded like excitement.

"Miss, is there by any chance, a scar on the inside of your left arm?"

"Yes." Erica said, confused about what her scar had to do with anything.

"May I see it, please?"

She held out her arm. The dim light fell on her crescent shaped scar, making it glisten. Then she dropped her arm back down to her side.

"Ahh." was all he said.

He sat back in his chair, and seemed to be thinking about something. At last, he spoke.

"Escort her to a cell for the present." he said to a nearby soldier.

As the soldier led her towards the doors, Schenck called after the soldier.

"And if she is harmed in anyway, or escapes, your fate will be most…regrettable."

The soldier seemed to get the hint, and he proceeded to lead her down a maze of stone corridors. He finally stopped in front of a small, wooden door. He opened it and Erica shakily walked in, hearing the lock click into place as the door closed. She looked around. Golden sunlight streamed in through a small, iron barred window close to the ceiling. Besides the walls, ceiling, floor, and herself, the cell was completely empty.

Wearily, she slid down the wall and sat on the floor with her back to it. Carefully, she placed her hands palm down on the cold stone floor. The cold felt good on her burned skin.

_I wonder what my scar has to do with this?_ she thought. _In any case, it might have just saved my life, along with my vision— _she drew in a sharp breath. There it was. She had finally confronted it. The bad feelings she got, the things she saw that weren't happening in reality—they were visions of the future. _Well, if that's true, what did the one I just have mean? If it comes true—_she couldn't bear to think about that. If it came true, there would be Hell on Earth. _I wonder how I burned the desk? And how did my hands get burned? Things that have happened in my visions have never physically affected me before._ Another thought occurred to her. _If I can see the future in visions and dreams, is my recurring nightmare going to come true?_ she shuddered, she hoped she was wrong about what she could do, because—if it really happened—

The moment the girl had left the room, Schenck turned to another soldier standing nearby.

"Contact Ilsa Haupstien," he ordered, "Tell her I've found the girl she's looking for."


	4. A Nightmare Come True

Chapter Four: A Nightmare Come True

Disclaimer: Hellboy characters do not belong to me. However, Erica is mine.

Author's Notes: Fans? I have Fans? YAY! Thanks so much for the reviews Psycho Llama and Blu Embyr! Terribly sorry about taking so long to update, but school has been busy and long chapters take a while to write. My next chapter will probably not be this long, as I know how it drives people crazy when their favorite stories aren't updated for a while. As always, ideas, questions, and comments are more than appreciated. Tell me what you think people! Anyways, the moment you've been waiting for: Erica meets Ilsa and Kroenen. Also, Kroenen starts spouting philosophy, which, like it sounds, is funny! Please Review!

Ilsa stood in front of the stone prison, the dust from the dirt road still settling from her hasty arrival in her car. But she hadn't come alone, she had an escort of two other vehicles besides her own. She wanted to make absolutely sure that nothing happened to that girl, whether it was from some outside source, or if the girl made some foolish attempt at escape.

She strode towards the doors accompanied by two soldiers from one of the other cars. As she reached the doors, one of the soldiers quickly sprang forward and held it open for her. Haughtily, she swept through without so much as a glance in his direction.

In much the same manner she entered the stone room with the desk that Erica had been in only hours before.

Hearing the smart tapping of shoes on the stone floor as Ilsa walked in, Schenck looked up from the paperwork he had been doing about the girl. He had been waiting for this moment with apprehension. Ilsa Haupstien was not only a high ranking member in the military, she was also one of the top leaders of the Occult, of which he was a member. She was, in the very least, dangerous. She was perilous enemy, and a treacherous person to trust. Beyond that, she could be very generous with rewards, or, alternately, after she had used you to get what she wanted, kill you. And that alone was enough to make Schenck almost humble in front of her.

"Ah, Ilsa Haupstien." he said as she reached his desk. "How good to see you again. I contacted you as soon as —"

"Yes, thank you for alerting me so quickly." Ilsa said, interrupting him. "You have been most helpful. Now, if you don't mind, I have very little time to waste. Fetch the girl, and turn over any information you have concerning her."

He was just about to argue, when he saw that dangerous glint in her ice blue eyes. That got the message across. He knew what she meant: no one was to know that the girl had ever been here, let alone existed.

"Very well," Schenck said, conceding defeat. He shuffled the papers on his desk and put them in a folder. "What about my men? The ones that arrested her?"

"Take care of them." Ilsa said coldly. "Now give that to me. And you would do well to forget about this incident, because if any information gets out, if I hear so much as a _whisper_ of a rumor, _I_ will be forced to take care of _you_."

Schenck swallowed hard, obviously afraid, despite his renown as a courageous military officer. What he was most afraid of was her last statement, which in the simplest terms meant that if anything got out, he would receive a very swift and bloody visit from a certain top assassin. He held out the folder to her.

Ilsa smiled as she took the folder. Her eyes flicked to the charred wood on the edge of Schenck's desk. She raised an eyebrow.

"Having difficulty with your latest prisoner?" she asked.

"Not for much longer. She's all yours. The soldier outside the doors will bring her to you." he said.

Ilsa nodded as she turned on her heel and left, the heels of her boots tapping on the stone floor. The doors closed behind her. Schenck slumped back in his chair and sighed with relief.

Erica lost track of time as she sat against the wall of the cell, doing nothing but thinking. Hours went by, and she didn't notice. Eventually, she was lulled into a doze by the warmth of the sun streaming in through the barred window.

Sometime later, she heard footsteps approaching outside the cell door, and she looked up. The sunlight coming through the window was dimmer than she remembered. The morning had passed into the afternoon.

The footsteps paused outside her cell and she heard the jingling of keys. Then there was a click as the door to her cell was unlocked. Quickly, she stood up, feeling it was better to face whatever was coming on her feet.

The wooden door swung open, revealing a soldier.

"They've come for you." he stated.

"Who has?" she asked in confusion. Of all things, that was the _last_ thing she had been expecting him to say.

"You must be very important for _her_ to be here in person to collect you." the soldier said, looking her up and down and not answering her question.

Somehow, the soldier's comment wasn't very reassuring.

"Come with me." he said.

As he led her through the corridors, Erica couldn't help but feel that her bad situation had just gotten much, much worse. _They've mistaken me for someone else,_ she thought, _There's no _way _anyone could know about me, I wasn't even here until a few hours ago. I just hope whoever I've been confused with hasn't done anything— _But that was stupid. Of course the person had done something to irritate the Nazis. Otherwise someone wouldn't be here looking for her. _At least the mystery about my scar is solved, the person they've mistaken me for must have one just like it. I just hope they're not going to kill me. _Another thought occurred to her. _I wonder how hard it would be to escape?_

She glanced over at the young soldier walking beside her. He wasn't all that much bigger than her, the only significant advantages he had was the gun on his belt — and the military training he had.

_Oh yeah, _she thought,_ forgot about that training. And the gun could be a problem. I'll have to get that away from him first._

She also noticed the keys on his belt. If she could knock him out and take the keys and the gun, she just might be able to get out of here. _Like you have any idea how to knock someone out_, she thought, mentally laughing at herself, _But then again, you never know until you try. _Trying to be as discreet as she could, she curled her hands into fists — or, at least she tried. The burned skin on her palms instantly protested, sending lancing pain up her arm. It was all she could do not to yell. Her eyes watered. _If I'm going to do this it'll have to be now, _she told herself. But just thenthey walked into the stone entrance hall. Standing there waiting for them was a woman and two Nazi soldiers.

The woman turned and looked directly at Erica, the woman's eyes darting down to the scar on Erica's arm.

"Here you are at last. We've been looking for you." the woman said, turning her ice blue eyes on Erica.

"Looking for me? How could you be looking for me? Because I know you've gotten me confused with someone else." Erica said. Then, she got an idea, it was worth trying, even if it made her look crazy. "I wasn't in Germany or even this decade until a few hours ago."

At these words the soldiers in the entrance hall looked confused, but the woman had a knowing smile on her face. "Everything will be revealed in time," the woman said, "I am Ilsa Haupstien. I'm here to collect you."

Ilsa Haupstien, Erica observed, was a pretty, if severe looking Arian woman. She noticed Ilsa's clothing, a military uniform._ I thought women generally weren't allowed to join the military, _Erica thought, _And what was with the 'it will all be revealed in time'? And why didn't she look at me like I was crazy? Could she really know something about me being here? This is just too freaky. Maybe when we go outside I can run for it._ Somehow, Ilsa seemed to know what Erica was thinking, because she said:

"If you try to escape, I will not hesitate to shoot you."

Ilsa said it as calmly as if she were talking about nothing more interesting than the weather. That was also when Erica noticed the handgun hidden in Ilsa's coat. _There goes_ that _plan,_ Erica thought, _I wouldn't get very far running over open ground._

"But then again, even if you did manage to escape, we'd have no difficulty finding as you do stand out, due to your height and your, ahem, clothes." Ilsa said, looking askance at Erica's attire.

Erica looked down at herself. That would explain why everyone at the train station had stared and whispered when they saw her, no females from this era wore anything resembling her jeans and purple T-shirt. And it was probably a good guess that she was also the tallest girl most of them had ever seen.

"Come, we have little time and it will take hours to get back." Ilsa said abruptly, interrupting Erica's thoughts. "You will sit beside me on the way back."

"Where are you taking me?" Erica asked, dreading the answer.

"To a mansion that belongs to one of my friends. Now come along."

Erica had the feeling that being hauled off to some Nazi's mansion was definitely _not_ a good thing. On the other hand, what choice did she have?

She followed Ilsa outside.

The "Nazi soldier" leaned his head against the door, drinking in every word that was spoken in the entrance hall. He heard the front doors open and then close as Ilsa, Erica, and the accompanying soldiers left. He hadn't learned much from that conversation — at least nothing a spy like himself would consider particularly valuable. He grinned. It had been extremely ironic when a few hours ago the Nazis had accused _Erica _of being a spy when he had been standing right there outside the doors, listening to every word. He had even hacked into the communication and heard exactly what had been said, everything from the identifying scar on the girl's arm to the reason why the Occult was looking for her: she could see the future. He couldn't blame the Occult or the Nazis for wanting her on their side, if they could convince her to help them, her talents would be invaluable. Unfortunately, her talents had the potential to doom the rest of the world.

He thought back over the conversation between Schenck and Ilsa Haupstien that he had just overheard, before the soldier had been sent to get Erica. Ilsa had been quick and to the point, dispensing with all formalities, a sure sign she was in a hurry. And who could blame her, if what they said about the girl named Erica was true.

He considered the developing situation remorsefully, knowing his sense of ethics was going to be troubling him soon, trying to interfere with what he had to do. He knew that being a spy meant that life and death were part of your everyday life, but he still hated the idea of killing innocent people. But if Erica could do what they had said, then he could not allow her to fall into the hands of the Occult. Doing so would give the Occult, as well as the Nazis, an enormous advantage over their enemies, an advantage that many countries would _beg _to have on their side if Erica could be rescued. Regrettably, this deep in Germany, rescuing Erica was impossible, leaving only one grim option.

Murder.

Erica didn't enjoy the car ride at all. It was spent in absolute silence except for the rumbling of the car's engine. And it didn't help that she had to sit in the back seat with Ilsa, something about the Arian woman just wasn't _right_. Something was different about her, and even though Erica couldn't exactly put her finger on it, she knew that she didn't like it. Erica fiddled with the silver cross on her necklace, staring blindly out the window at the beautiful countryside. She supposed she would have admired it at any other time, but having the feeling that you're being hauled off somewhere and that you're going to be killed sort of had the tendency to ruin it.

By the time the mansion appeared in the distance, it was evening. Dark, stormy clouds were gathering overhead and a cold wind blew through the trees, promising a storm. Thunder rumbled threateningly in the distance. As they drove closer, Erica's eyes were locked on the mansion, her mind full of apprehension about their destination.

An intricate wrought iron gate stood at the entrance to the driveway, its gates wide open for the car to pass through. As they were going up the long driveway, she could finally see some of the architectural details of the mansion. And though she really didn't want to be anywhere near it, she had to admit that the mansion was beautiful, and with its columns, sweeping arches, and huge windows it was definitely magnificent if slightly foreboding.

The soldier driving dropped them off at the front door, and then drove away, the other two escort cars following, leaving Erica alone with Ilsa.

"Come." was all Ilsa said, pointing to the front door.

Having no choice, and being very aware of the handgun in Ilsa's coat, Erica walked up the white marble steps. _What's going to happen to me? _she thought. As they approached the huge wooden door, Erica noticed the intricate carvings and the stain glass windows in it before the door opened slowly. Erica looked uncertainly at Ilsa, who indicated with a wave that Erica should go through first. _Probably to keep me from trying to run off,_ she thought, as she walked over the threshold and entered a magnificent, if shadowy foyer.

She heard the door close behind her, the sound echoing in the huge space. The ceiling was at least twenty feet above her head and had gold crown molding all around the top, along with a gold chandelier hanging from its center. The lit candles on the chandelier threw a flickering glow on the crystals hanging off of it, making them sparkle and shimmer. Along the wall on her right was an ornate staircase that led up to a balcony overlooking the foyer from the second floor. On her left was a hall that led to the rest of the house. The floor beneath her feet was white marble, and the walls were decorated with paintings the size of bay windows. And this was just the _foyer_.

"This is _beautiful_." Erica murmured, almost forgetting where she was. _I wish it wasn't so dim in here, it would be even more beautiful if it was brightly lit, _she thought.

"Yes, my friend is very wealthy." Ilsa said, walking up beside her.

"And at the current moment, very impatient." said a voice.

Startled, Erica's eyes shot over to where a figure was leaning casually on the banister of the staircase. He was standing in the shadows and wearing black clothes, which explained why she hadn't spotted him immediately. His face was completely concealed by a smooth black mask, the flickering light from the chandelier cast dancing shadows across its surface, making him look threatening. From the casual way he was leaning on the banister, it was quite obvious that he had been watching them for some time.

"Patience is a virtue." Ilsa retorted, turning to look at him.

"Ah, that is where you are wrong," he said, "As you should know, there are seven virtues: faith, hope, charity, fortitude, justice, prudence, and temperance. Patience is not one of them."

"Reading philosophy again, I see." she said disapprovingly.

"On the contrary. I was merely studying so I would be able to better relate to our… 'guest'."

At the last word, he turned his head to face Erica so that he was looking directly at her. Not wanting to show that he frightened her, she didn't look away. But she had another reason not to look away besides her general safety: he reminded her of something, or someone, she just couldn't remember what.

He didn't look away either, instead he walked towards her, stepping forward out of the shadows. Danger radiated from him, she just _knew_ by the way he moved and spoke thathe wasn't a person you wanted to cross. Suddenly, she had the feeling that it might be a good idea to back away from him, and she took a few retreating steps backwards towards the door.

"Don't be frightened," he said.

"Only fools are not afraid." Erica said, figuring that if she was going to die, she wasn't going to die a coward.

"True, 'none but a coward dares to boast that he has never known fear' but 'the fear of death is more to be dreaded than death itself'. Publilius Syrus 100 B.C. and Ferdinand Foch, a French general. Both statements are very true, I believe you will soon find."

"What do you mean?" Erica asked. "Are you — are you going to kill me?"

"No, not unless you give us significant reason to." he answered, "But I realize that's probably not very reassuring."

"Kroenen, stop scaring her." said Ilsa, "The three of us have things to discuss."

"Don't be rude to our 'guest'," Kroenen said, "I'm sure she's hungry since she hasn't eaten since this morning. We can talk during dinner."

_How does he know I haven't eaten since breakfast?_ Erica thought, feeling uneasy._ At least I know they're not planning to kill me. But what do they want to talk to me about? And why is he wearing a mask?_

"Come, I just had the servants set the table for us in the dining hall." Kroenen said, leading the way.

The dining hall was just as ornate as the foyer had been, but about twice as much. A huge fireplace was on one wall, it was so big that Erica could have stood up in it easily. Right now, a roaring fire burned in it, providing the only illumination besides the candles on the small, square table in the center of the room. The wall opposite the fireplace was full of windows that went almost all the way from floor to ceiling. Through them, Erica could see flashes of lightning and the trees swaying in the wind as the storm's wrath was released. The rain started to fall and pattered against the windows.

Other than themselves, the only other people in the huge room were two servants, one that was pouring drinks, and the other one pulling out a chair for Ilsa to sit in. Then, the servants disappeared through a door next to a woven tapestry hanging on the wall.

Kroenen walked over to the table and pulled out a chair, indicating that Erica should sit there. Keeping one wary eye on him, she slowly sat down and then watched him carefully as he went to the chair across from her.

"Tsk tsk. So untrusting." he admonished, but there was a hint of amusement in his voice.

"I can't imagine why." Erica said sarcastically.

Erica looked down at the food on the plate in front of her. There was toasted bread with butter, salad, some kind of soup, and some other foods she couldn't recognize, probably foods native to Germany. Besides herself, Ilsa was the only one that had food on her plate, Kroenen sat in his chair idly fiddling with the knife at his place setting, spinning it with his fingers in a very unsettling manner. Ilsa appeared not to notice, either that or she didn't care, and started on her soup. Erica looked down at the food on her plate. It all looked good, and the truth was, she was _starving_. She was just picking up her fork when something occurred to her. _What if it's poisoned? _she thought. At that thought, she instantly dropped the fork back on the table.

"Go ahead, eat." encouraged Ilsa, noticing that Erica hadn't touched her food.

Erica just sat there, looking mistrustfully from the food in front of her to her two dinner "companions".

"Don't worry, we wouldn't go to all the trouble of finding you just to poison you." Kroenen said, putting down the knife and leaning forward on the table to watch her.

_How on earth did he know what I was thinking?_ she wondered.

"I know what you're thinking because you can't be an assassin or top leader of the Occult without understanding how other people will act and think in a given situation. People, I've found, are extremely predictable. Another reason why you were so easy to find."

Seeing the look on Erica's face, Ilsa laughed.

And that was the last thing in a long line of things that pushed Erica over the edge. She wanted answers and she wanted them _now_.

"But how could you be looking for me? You couldn't have known about me, because, as crazy as I know this sounds, until this morning I was several decades in the future, and at least an ocean away from here. You must have me confused with someone else because, in fact, you couldn't have known about me, unless…unless _you_ were the ones that brought me here!"

"Imagine that, pretty _and_ intelligent." Kroenen said from the other end of the table.

Ilsa had stopped eating and was looking at Erica with an expression she couldn't read, but there was no hint in Ilsa's face that she thought Erica was crazy.

"Then — then it's true?" Erica asked, "But if you are the ones who brought me here, how did you know about me?"

"The leader of the Occult informed us that we were to find you because you had certain talents that would assist us in reaching our goals." Kroenen said, being careful of his choice of words so as not to give too much away.

"I refuse to be the pawn of some Occult! And I want to go home!" Erica said, "And how did you know what I can do?"

In response, Kroenen stood up. Thinking that maybe, for once in her life, she had gone too far and was about to pay for it, Erica started to stand too, with the intention of either running or fighting.

"Sit." Ilsa said. "He won't harm you, and neither will I. He is trying to explain."

Erica sat down, her curiosity getting the better of her. That, and the knowledge that Ilsa had a gun in her coat. But Erica had the distinct feeling that she was going to regret this.

Kroenen walked over to a small table in the corner of the room, returning with a book that had a black leather cover with a silver crescent on its front. He opened the book and flipped through the pages, stopping when he found the one he was looking for. And unless it was a trick of the firelight, Erica could have sworn that the pages were glowing with a hellish light.

"She will be marked with a crescent shaped scar on the inside of her left arm, and she will have the power of prophecy," he read from the book, "as well as the ability to see all alternate endings to situations. She will be found in the 21 century."

"That's how you knew about me? But how did I get here?"

"Let's just say that magic is very, very real. And when used correctly by the right person…" Ilsa said.

"But why? Why bring me here?" Erica asked, dreading the answer she knew was coming.

"So many question! Haven't you figured that out for yourself?" Kroenen asked, walking around the table toward her, "I suspect you have, but let me explain it. As you have heard, you have been marked since birth, marked because of your unique power to see the future. Though you haven't learned to control it, it is very powerful, and very useful. Specifically, the Occult is very interested in you.

"You mean, they— you— want me to help them." Erica said. "I'm sorry, but it seems that I have no interest in helping you slaughter innocent people and control the world."

"Erica, the Nazis and the Occult are not one and the same," Ilsa said, "The Occult is different. We can help you."

"I don't want or need your help!" she said, standing up.

"Erica, can't you see you're meant to help us? It is inevitable." said Kroenen.

By this time he was standing directly in front of her, and he reached out a gloved hand towards her. She tried to back away, but the table and the chair behind her were in her way. His outstretched fingers touched the crescent scar on her arm. To her shock, her scar turned a cold blue with red around the edges. And it _burned_. She gasped and wrenched away.

"Don't you see that you belong here with us?" he said, "We've been expecting you."

She spun around and leapt over her chair, and she ran. She didn't think, she just ran. She had no idea where she was going, or how she would get away, but she didn't care. She couldn't stay in that dining hall with _them_ a moment longer. She ran through the corridors blindly, until she realized that she was completely lost, nothing looked familiar. And besides that, the corridors she was wandering around in were dark, lit only by an occasional candle or window, making each one look almost exactly like the last. She walked through the dark corridors, completely disoriented. _This place is a maze!_ she thought. _I certainly don't envy the architect that had to build this place. I wonder if the servants that work here ever get lost? _Suddenly, she found herself in a long, dark hall with a high ceiling, at the other end, was a huge widow. Through it, she could see the thunderstorm raging outside. As she walked down the hall, a thought suddenly occurred to her.

_This is sort of…familiar, almost like I've been here before. But that's impossible…_

Erica stopped halfway down the hall. Despite the violent storm outside hurling rain against the window, and the shrieking wind, she could hear a soft ticking sound, as if there was a clock somewhere nearby. She looked around, searching for it. But the hallway was empty, there was no furniture in it, no paintings, no clocks. She was the only thing in it. Regardless of this, the ticking continued very softly, seeming to come from near the window.

Unnerved, Erica approached the window slowly. _Maybe I can break the glass and get outside,_ she thought. But another part of her mind was trying to deal with her serious case of déjà vu. _I know I've seen this before. But where?_ she thought. Then, she knew. _No! No! This can't be happening!_ she thought frantically, _My nightmare is _not_ going to come true! This isn't real! It can't be!_

But it was coming true, and was very much real. Everything from her nightmare, down to the slightest detail, was _exactly_ the same. _But if it's true, then that means— _Her eyes darted around nervously, trying to locate the danger she knew was hidden somewhere within the shadows veiling the hall. Something she couldn't see rustled nearby. She swallowed thickly, her heart racing.

_Maybe I can make it to the window before— before—_ She couldn't think about that. It was too terrible.

As she walked closer to the window, the ticking got louder. The back of her neck prickled. Someone was behind her! She whirled around to face the hall — but no one was there. She looked around uneasily, backing up towards the window. A bolt of lightning flashed outside the window behind her, lighting the hall with an eerie, electric blue light. Thunder boomed so loudly and so close that it made the glass in the widow vibrate.

"Erica." a voice from behind her hissed her name, breaking the silence of the hall.

Erica shrieked and spun around. Kroenen was silhouetted against the storm outside the window, so close he could have reached out and touched her. She was so close to him that she realized the soft ticking she heard was coming from _him_. _But how is that possible?_ she thought. _He'd have to be— And _this_ is why I thought Kroenen looked familiar! He was in my nightmare! _She stared in horror, her gray eyes wide with fear, too scared to back away from him.

Despite his mask, she could feel him watching her. She couldn't move, she was rooted to the spot by his intense gaze that was piercing her heart and searching her soul, staring into her face. He stood still, watching her, his terrible gaze slicing into her. She wanted to scream but couldn't open her mouth or make a sound. _Run! _A voice inside her shrieked, _Run away_! But she couldn't move.

"You can run," he hissed, "but you cannot escape."

The chilling words from her nightmare echoed in the dark hall and in her head. But this wasn't a dream, it was real! Her nightmare had come true! She stood there, mind numbing fear making it impossible for her to think, she only knew that she was afraid.

"Erica," Kroenen whispered. Slowly, he held out his hand. "Erica, come back with me. You're missing dinner."

"NO!" she shrieked.

Erica turned and ran. She had to get away—

"Why are you running?" he asked, his words echoing in the darkness, "You have nowhere to go. Besides, I won't hurt you—"

"As if I'd believe that!" she yelled back.

She ran, the sound of her shoes hitting the carpet sounding as loud as a drum in the silence of the hall. Somehow, without turning around, she knew that a pair of almost noiseless feet were following behind her, Kroenen was pursuing her. But she also knew he was taking his time, he wasn't worried about her getting away. Seeing an intersection between two hallways ahead of her, she got an idea. Hoping to throw him off, she ran straight ahead and then swerved at the last moment and took off down the windowless, dark hall on the right. Quickly, she dashed behind a suit of armor, flattening herself against the wall so she wouldn't be seen.

The sound of Kroenen's quiet footsteps approached and she held her breath, trying to be absolutely silent. She was certain he would hear her pounding heart, but the sound of his footsteps passed by the hall she was in and faded into the distance. Once she was sure he was gone, she ran down the hall, hoping she could find a way out of here before Kroenen found her again.

The shadows in this hall were so dark they made the ones in the hall she had just left almost benign looking. In fact, unless it was an optical illusion, the shadows seemed to be — _moving_. The shadows poured down from the walls, moving fluidly towards her, closing in around her. Desperately, she took off down another hall trying to escape from them. This one wasn't any better, it was even darker and the shadows here seemed to turn to watch her and whisper to each other before joining the twisting, contorting wave flowing after her.

She ran, stumbling and gasping for breath, trying to escape—

The shadows were reaching out with shapeless claws to catch her— Hands with spider-thin fingers, writhing tentacles, all reaching for her, so close—

—Trying to catch her, capture her—

Erica couldn't let the darkness catch her, couldn't—

It was all around her, there was nowhere to go, she couldn't escape—

— She kept running, knowing that it was futile—

Out of nowhere, a gloved hand roughly grabbed her shoulder, stopping her in her tracks so suddenly that she fell forward. The hand on her shoulder tightened and clamped down like a vice, stopping her fall and ensuring she couldn't escape. As the hand tightened, Erica cried out in pain and struggled to pull away, the grip only constricted even more until it felt like it was crushing the bones in her shoulder. She shrieked and lashed out blindly in the darkness, feeling her fist strike the person's chest.

Another hand brushed her face and she instinctively sank her teeth into it. She felt her teeth scrape bone, but there was no cry of pain from her attacker, which surprised her. Instead, a foot kicked her in the back of the knee, throwing her off balance and making her yelp in pain. Unfortunately, she also opened her mouth, and when she did, the hand yanked away. The next thing she knew the hand grabbed her neck, the fingers instantly finding her jugular vein and windpipe and tightening down mercilessly. She fought back, her fingers trying to pry the hand off her throat, but it was useless, the other person was just too strong. Her lungs were aching for air, she couldn't breathe! She gasped for air, her attempts only creating a strangled guttural sound. The hand around her throat constricted even further, making it impossible to breathe. Everything spun around her, the shadows and walls swirling around in a dizzying dance. As she struggled, her limbs got slower and weaker, her legs buckled and she suddenly found herself kneeling on the floor.

That was when she knew she couldn't get away, that she had no hope of escape. Her lungs felt like they were on fire, and she could hear her heart beating frantically in her chest. A dark fog settled over her brain, her arms and legs wouldn't obey her anymore, and her vision began to fade out. Then the shadows swallowed everything completely and she couldn't see, everything was pitch black. The last thing she was aware of was a dull, painful throbbing in her skull before everything just _stopped_.

Erica went limp as her oxygen deprived brain went unconscious. Knowing she wasn't going to be waking up anytime soon, Kroenen let her body fall softly to the floor and knelt down beside her to check to see that she was still breathing. Yes, she was, though it was irregular and shallow, she was breathing. The fingers of his uninjured hand moved down to her wrist, finding her pulse which was faint, but there. He sighed, he had been trying not to harm her too much, but she hadn't been exactly interested in being cooperative. He held up the hand that she had bitten and tried to see the extent of the damage, but it was too dark here to tell. He could feel blood running down his arm and guessed by that she had, in the very least, bitten down to the bone and severed several blood vessels. Unlike the average person might expect, he wasn't angry that she had hurt him, or even irritated. In fact, he thought it was rather amusing. _Well, _he thought, looking down at her body sprawled across the carpet, _you certainly will be an interesting challenge._ With that thought, he slid his arms under her and picked her up, and then started back towards the dining hall.

As Kroenen re-entered the dining hall, Ilsa looked up. She had heard some of what had been going on, mostly shrieks from Erica and had decided not to get involved, Kroenen was more than capable of dealing with an emotional and scared teenage girl. However, when Erica had run off and Kroenen had gone after her, Ilsa had simply expected him to retrieve Erica and bring her back. Instead she was met with the sight of Kroenen carrying Erica's _very_ limp form cradled in his arms. Erica's face was pale and her head lolled on her neck, which had several darkening bruises on it. Ilsa immediately expected the worst.

Kroenen, seeing Ilsa's expression, explained.

"She tried to fight me," he said, "she's unconscious now. Don't worry, she'll wake up soon."

With that, Kroenen headed for the staircase in the foyer. As he turned, Ilsa noticed the dark crimson blood running down his arm and dripping on the floor.

Kroenen carried Erica up the stairs to the room they had prepared for her. He laid her on the bed and then left, locking the door behind him. A short time later, Erica's body stirred. Slowly, she opened her eyes, and immediately closed them again as she was assailed by a pounding headache. She moaned and tried to move her head, and discovered that for some reason, her neck was extremely sore. She gave up moving and opened her eyes again, staring at the unfamiliar ceiling above her head. _What happened? _she thought groggily, _Why do I feel so bad?_ _And how'd I get here? This isn't my bedroom..._

And what was that weird taste in her mouth? It tasted almost like— _blood_. In a rush, it all came back to her. "Oh my god! I have to get out of here!" she said, her voice sounding hoarse to her ears.

She jumped upright and immediately regretted it as her headache doubled into a head splitting pain. She swayed on her feet and leaned against the bed for support. When it passed, she moved again, but _slowly_ this time. _Where am I?_ she thought, _I don't recognize this place._ She went to the door and turned the gold colored knob. But it didn't open. She rattled the doorknob and pounded on the door. But it was no use, it was locked. Frantically she turned around, her eyes darting around, searching the room for any way out. They fell on the window next to the bed and she rushed over. But the window wasn't the kind that opened and it was too high above the ground to try to jump or climb down on something. Besides, the glass was so thick that she didn't think she'd be able to break it. There was no way to get out, she was trapped. Full of despair, she threw herself down on the bed. _Even if I could get out I have nowhere to go,_ she thought, remembering what Kroenen had said._ What will my parents think when they find out that I've disappeared? That I'm never coming back?_

Outside, the storm still raged, reflecting her inner feelings of confusion, anger, fear, and sorrow.

Ilsa leaned against the wall next to the fireplace in Kroenen's study. Kroenen sat at his desk, which had medical instruments scattered across its top. A needle flashed coldly in the light as he sewed the skin and muscles of his injured hand back together. Ilsa watched him, a cruel smile on her face.

"Imagine that, the little, defenseless girl managed to injure Hitler's top assassin." Ilsa said, amusement in her voice.

"Little? Exactly whom are you comparing her to? If I remember correctly, she happens to be several inches taller than you." Kroenen said, "And, though it would have been altogether too easy to seriously wound or kill her, I didn't think Grigory would be particularly pleased if that were to happen. Now, if you would, please be quiet until I am finished with the task at 'hand'."

Ilsa glowered at him, resenting the fact that he had told her to be quiet, but at least she was silent.

As he worked, he thought back over the events in the hallway. Erica certainly had a lot to learn. He had known the entire time where she was and where she was going, he had even known that she had been hiding behind that suit of armor. And it had been all too easy to make her think she was alone when, in fact, he had never been more that fifteen feet away from her.

When the last stitch was in place, he gathered up the medical instruments on his desk and began putting them away.

"What do you think?" Ilsa said, breaking the silence.

"About what?" he said, cleaning the drops of blood off his desktop.

"About Erica! What else!"

"Well, we both know she's not hesitant when it comes to defending herself. Besides that, she is intelligent, she knew she shouldn't trust us. "

"Not _that_! How are we going to convince her to help us?"

Kroenen thought for a moment. "The best way: use her weaknesses against her. Based on tonight, that should be relatively easy, and she won't ever suspect a thing. Most obvious is that her talents scare her because she cannot control them. Beyond that, she was asking a lot of questions. She always wants to _know_, to _learn_. And that, I think, will be her downfall."


	5. Assassination Attempt

Chapter Five: Assassination Attempt

Disclaimer: Hellboy characters do not belong to me. However, Erica is mine.

Author's Notes: Thanks again for the reviews! Again, I apologize for how long it takes me to write chapters, but they are so _long_. My next few chapters should be much shorter, so they'll be up much sooner. So don't think I'd ever forget about this story and not finish it! I know more people have to be reading this—and enjoying it, hopefully, so please review!

At some point, Erica fell asleep, so suddenly in fact, that she wasn't even afraid of being plagued by nightmares all night. Fortunately, her sleep was dreamless and restful. She didn't know it, but she would never again have the same nightmare about the hall, the nightmare had really been a vision, and as it had come to pass, that particular one would never trouble her sleep again.

Erica woke up and slowly opened her eyes. Something was different. What was it? Then she knew:_ I didn't have that nightmare! It's gone! — But—didn't it come true? That hall last night_— _the whispering shadows chasing me—_ An image of a hand reaching for her throat appeared in her mind's eye, making her sit up and her hands involuntarily fly up to her neck. She shuddered, glancing around her to make sure she was alone and therefore, safe. _Didn't I sit up too fast last night?_ she thought,_ I remember, I had a terrible headache, at least that's gone now_.

She looked out the window next to her bed. They sky was grey and overcast, and it was still raining outside, but it was a gentle, drizzling rain. In the grey light, she could see that the area below her window was actually a courtyard with cobblestones, with a small garden directly below her window. The courtyard, however, was deserted, the cobblestones were glistening with rainwater, and raindrops slid off the plant's leaves into puddles on the ground. She could also see that she was _very_ far up, at least three stories, and she was very glad she hadn't tried to climb out the window last night, she probably would have fallen and broken her neck.

She turned around and looked at the room almost with surprise, she had been so upset last night she hadn't really noticed what it looked like. Like the rest of the house, the room was richly decorated. There was crown molding around the edges of the ceiling and soft red carpeting on the floor. The door to her bedroom was a dark, rich wood and had intricate designs carved into it. The bed was also of a dark wood, as were the scattering of other furnishings in the room, including a small table with a lamp and clock on it, and a dresser. The curtains around the window were floor length, and there were a few pictures on the wall, all of them landscapes. On one wall, there was a mirror with a gold frame. Compulsively, she walked over and looked back at her reflection. _I look like somebody beat me up, _she thought, gently touching the dark purple bruises on her throat. _But how else did I expect to look?_ Her shoulder was tender too, she pulled the sleeve of her purple T-shirt up and discovered bruises even worse than the ones on her neck. _Ow_, she thought, _That doesn't look good._ She also noticed her palms were still a burned red color and sensitive, but a little better than the day before.

She looked back up at the mirror. Her long brown hair had fallen out of her ponytail, and now hung in disarray around her face and shoulders. She looked around for her hair scrunchie, but couldn't find it. _It probably fell out when whoever it was tried to choke me, _she thought, shivering. Then her eyes fell on the dresser, a brush was sitting on top of it. She picked it up and brushed her hair, and when she was finished, she straightened her cross necklace and clothes.

Her stomach rumbled and she realized that she was hungry, she hadn't eaten anything since yesterday morning. _I really don't want to have to deal with Ilsa and Kroenen again to get something to eat_, she thought, _They're both creepy. Especially Kroenen. I wonder why he wears that mask? And where did he get that black book from? The one that had the prophesy about me in it? _She recalled a story she had read, not really all that long ago. It had mentioned that the Devil carried a black book that was full of all the names of his servants. As part of a contract, each person signed their name in the book in their own blood. She shuddered, _Why did I think about that? The books just happen to both be black. They're different._

She turned her mind to more pressing matters. Like how she had gotten in this room. The last thing she remembered was everything going black as she was being strangled. And if she had been attacked, then obviously someone other than her attacker had brought her up here. Otherwise she would be dead. So then someone had rescued her. _I wonder who attacked me, I never even saw their face. I remember losing Kroenen in the halls, but I don't think he would have attacked me, both he and Ilsa seemed more interested in getting me to help them than killing me. They even said they wouldn't hurt me— if anything they said can be believed._

She remembered Kroenen's words from last night: _Why are you running? You have nowhere to go._ That, at least, was painfully true, and she knew it, though she hated to admit it. She had nowhere to go, no one else in this time even knew she existed. And she wasn't supposed to be here, technically she wasn't even born yet! The concept was mind blowing, that she could exist _before_ she was born. Time travel was certainly full of paradoxes.

_The only way I'm going to be able to deal with this is if I just try to take everything in stride, and just try to cope, _she thought,_ No matter what, I can't leave, I can't escape from the past. I'll just have to deal with it and make the best of it—even if someone tries to kill me again._ Which, unfortunately, didn't seem all that unlikely after last night.

Absentmindedly, she walked over to the door and reached out for the handle. As she did so, she suddenly remembered that the door was locked, but she tried the handle anyways. To her surprise, the knob turned. Her heart leapt. Now was her chance to escape before those two Nazis did anything _else_ to her.

Quickly, she opened the door, took a running step forward— and crashed into something.

Erica reeled backwards into the room, stumbling as she tried to regain her balance. Instead, she tripped over her own feet and fell, landing in an ungraceful heap on the carpet. She looked up, and discovered Kroenen standing in the doorway, dressed in his black Nazi uniform, his black mask looking down at her.

"Good morning," he said courteously, "Did you sleep well?"

Erica just gaped up at him from her position on the floor, too shocked to say anything.

"I wonder what the chances are that the moment I unlock a door, that you open it? There must be a lesson in that."

"What?" Erica asked, looking up at him.

"Philosophically speaking. I unlock a door, and you open it."

Though he spoke in a normal tone of voice, Erica couldn't help but feel that something sinister was hidden in his words. As far she was concerned, she _never_ wanted to open a door he had unlocked, whether that door was real or a philosophical metaphor. In either case, something repulsive was sure to come through.

Her thoughts must have shown on her face, because he said:

"I think you'll eventually find that you _want_ me to unlock those doors for you, and that you'll be more than willing to open them. However, I suggest that you don't go rushing headlong through _any_ sort of door. You run the risk of running into things. Like me."

"Sorry," she mumbled, not even sure why she was apologizing. If anyone should be apologizing, it should be Ilsa and Kroenen for dragging her out here, scaring her half to death, and locking her in a room. Not to mention that Erica had nearly been killed last night.

"On another note, perhaps you would care to join us for breakfast? After all, you never touched your dinner."

If Erica hadn't decided to take everything in stride and hadn't been absolutely starving, there was no way she would have followed Kroenen _anywhere_. But, as she was both, she followed him through the corridors, down the staircase, and into the dining hall.

Like last night, there was a small, square table in the center of the huge room, and a fire was burning in the huge fireplace. The floor to ceiling windows opposite the fireplace looked out over the countryside, the glass covered in droplets of water from the falling rain. A clock she hadn't noticed before hung on the wall, the hands pointing to exactly 7:00 am.

Ilsa was waiting for them, wearing a black uniform just like the one she had worn the day before. She was in the same chair she had sat in last night. The table was set for breakfast, a basket of fruit, a pitcher of milk, and a pot of coffee sat in its center.

Erica automatically went over to the same chair she had sat in the night before, and Kroenen simply took the seat across the table from Erica. The table in front of him was empty.

"Good morning," Ilsa said, "Or should I say, a rainy and wet morning."

Ilsa was drinking a steaming cup of coffee, and there were crumbs on her plate as if she had already eaten before they had gotten there. Erica looked down at the toast and fruit slices on her plate. This time she didn't even hesitate, she was absolutely _starving_. She started on some toast and a glass of milk, and both disappeared very quickly. As she ate some apple slices, she looked up and noticed that once again, Kroenen hadn't touched any food. _I wonder why he isn't eating. He didn't eat anything at dinner either, doesn't he get hungry? _She remembered the ticking she had heard coming from him in the hall. _Maybe_ — but she wasn't going to think about that. _He probably eats somewhere else,_ she decided.

She looked back towards Ilsa who was still sitting there silently, drinking coffee. The silence was almost uncomfortable, being broken only by the continuous _tick tock_ from the cloak hanging on the wall. At least, Erica hoped it was just the clock hanging on the wall. _On the bright side, if they're quiet, they're not likely to freak me out as much, _she thought, finishing her last piece of toast. She looked up and noticed that Kroenen was idly toying with a small knife again, as he had at dinner the night before. _Where did he get that? _she wondered._ There's no place setting in front of him, and, as far as I can tell, he's not carrying any weapons. _

Still toying with the knife, Kroenen picked up an apple from the basket of fruit on the table. _I wonder if he's going to eat that? _Erica thought,_ He's going to have to take his mask off if he is. _Instead, Kroenen sat back in his chair and slowly peeled the skin off the apple in one continuous piece. Just as slowly and precisely, he cored the apple and then split in into several pieces, seeming not to notice how uncomfortable he was making Erica. Ilsa, for her part, seemed to be getting annoyed. Finally, Ilsa broke the silence, slamming her coffee mug down on the table. Erica jumped, but Kroenen merely glanced in Ilsa's direction before returning to cutting the pieces of apple into smaller chunks.

"As entertaining as it is to sit here and have breakfast with you, I have some 'business' to take care of today," she said, more to Kroenen than to Erica, "So I suggest you take our 'guest' on a tour of the 'library'."

Unbeknownst to Erica, when Ilsa had come to collect Erica from the prison, Schenck had turned over more than just the folder containing the information he had collected. He had also given Ilsa Erica's suitcase, along with a list of its contents. And the first item on the list was the book Erica had been reading on the train. On closer inspection of the book and other books in Erica's suitcase, Ilsa and Kroenen had quickly realized that Erica enjoyed reading about magic and mythology.

"Library?" Erica asked, instantly curious.

"Yes, I think it would be the best way to occupy your time until another of our friends arrives." Ilsa said.

With those words, Ilsa stood up and left. Erica watched her go, thinking: _Another of their friends? Great, as if dealing with the two of them isn't challenging enough!_ Then Erica remembered she had decided to just try to cope with everything. She sighed. _Oh well. At least the library sounds interesting. But I'm not so thrilled that _he's _taking me there._

She looked up. Kroenen had ceased his methodical destruction of the apple and had turned his chair so he was looking out the windows. He didn't seem to be paying very much attention to her. The natural light from the windows and the firelight from the fireplace reflected on his mask. Erica stared at him curiously. _I wonder why he wears that mask? What is he hiding?_ she asked herself.

Kroenen pretended he didn't know she was watching him, an easy thing to do since he wore a mask. He wasn't really looking out the windows, his head was just tilted that way to make Erica think that he was. In reality, he was keeping an eye on her, to see what she would do, now that it was just the two of them in the room. He remembered how terrified of him Erica had been last night, and found it interesting that she managed to sit there in his presence without looking afraid. Everyone, with the exception of Ilsa and a select few, were terrified when they were left alone with him. And for a good reason, as he had a habit of killing people on the spot when they displeased him. Although, sometimes, depending on the person, they sometimes met with a fate as horrible as he could possibly contrive. Behind his mask, he smiled wickedly at that thought. But no, Erica did not look afraid, she was being more cautious than anything, which was a wise move. _She should be cautious, even afraid, _he thought. Then, _If Erica only knew where Ilsa was going, if she knew what's about to happen, she _would_ be afraid._

Ilsa had gone to speak to Grigory about Erica, and, most importantly, when Erica would be meeting him. And Erica would be meeting him _very_ soon, if the trip to the 'library' had any effect on her. _I would be surprised if it didn't, _Kroenen thought. After all, there was a reason that no one, except himself and Ilsa, ever went into his study/library. The books had minds and agendas of their own. To enter his study without knowing that, without knowing how to protect yourself, would certainly be an altering experience to say in the least. And beyond that, some of the books were so dangerous that only Grigory could touch them without coming to harm.

Kroenen picked up the small knife on the table and felt the sutures in his hand tighten, pulling at his skin under his glove. He hid the knife back in his coat, and then looked up to see Erica's gray eyes staring at his mask, the color of her eyes a perfect reflection of the overcast skies outside the window. The dark bruises on her neck were such a sharp contrast against her pale skin, that he slightly regretted that he had hurt her. Brushing that thought away, he spoke.

"If you're finished breakfast, I'll show you where the library is."

The door to the library closed behind her. She was in a room that was a combination study and library. Bookshelves lined the walls and rose toward the ceiling, their shelves crammed with books of all sizes, shapes, and colors. Some were arranged in an orderly fashion, others were stacked haphazardly among scrolls and sheets of paper. She looked at them curiously before turning her attention to the rest of the room. In the fireplace a fire was burning merrily, and beside the fireplace, there was a clock that had the planets moving around its face. She heard opera music playing faintly in the background, and, looking around for its source, spotted a phonograph sitting on a small table. The only furniture in the room besides the small table the phonograph was on, was a large desk that sat in the center of the room. Its dark wood surface was almost painfully clean, though she could see some deep slashes in its surface that looked like they had been made by knives. She shuddered, reminded of how easily he had taken that apple apart at breakfast.

There was nothing on the desk except for a tidy stack of books that sat on one corner. While she was standing there looking around, Kroenen walked over to the phonograph and turned the music off.

"Do not, under any circumstances, touch the shelves or any books I don't hand to you myself." he warned her.

"Why?" she asked, truly curious and slightly surprised by his warning. She had never heard of a library where you couldn't look at the books.

"It could have very… _unpleasant _results." Kroenen said.

_He's just trying to scare me,_ she told herself. But as she walked by the shelves full of the old volumes and parchments, she had a feeling his words weren't far from the truth. The texts radiated something invisible from their ancient pages that made her skin crawl and made her feel like she was being watched and discussed— _That's ridiculous! s_he thought, _books didn't have voices or eyes! — Do they?_

What Erica didn't know was that, though some of the feeling of forbidden power came from the collection of books, most of it came from a man that wasn't even present in the room, but was watching the unfolding events with interest, as they were of high importance to him. His name was Grigory Rasputin, and, at the current moment, he was in another part of the mansion, and Ilsa was standing close by. A mirror hung on the wall of the room, and instead of his reflection, Grigory saw Kroenen's study. In fact, he could see the entire study and see everything that went on, hear every word that was spoken. And it was because of him that the books were so 'awake'. And though the books did not have eyes or a mouth, they were whispering, and they were watching, just as Grigory was.

"Where did all these books come from?" Erica asked in awe, looking up at the shelves that filled the walls.

"From here and there. As the head of the Thule Occult Society I make it a point to collect ancient books that are of…interest." answered Kroenen.

"What's the Thule Occult Society?"

"A group of German aristocrats who are part of the Occult. You may remember that we were talking it about yesterday."

_That wasn't very informative, _she thought.

"And you're the leader?" she asked.

"No, I am the head of the Thule Occult Society."

"Isn't that the same thing?"

"No. But I assure you, curious one, you will meet our 'leader', as you call him."

She didn't find that very assuring at all. Someone who Kroenen looked at as his leader would be a lot scarier than she even wanted to think about.

"Come, I found some books I thought you might like." he said, indicating the books on the desk.

Hesitantly, she walked towards the desk, and reached out for a book. Then, remembering his warning, she dropped her hand back to her side and looked up at him.

"Good," he said, "You _are_ learning."

_Learning what? _she wondered, as he handed her two of the books from the stack.

Then, he walked around his desk and sat down, taking out paper and a fountain pen from one of the drawers. Erica looked around. There were no other chairs in the room. So she walked towards the fireplace and sat down with her back against the mantel, crossing her legs and putting the books on her lap. This way, she could keep an eye on him, and he couldn't sneak up behind her. The cover of the first book was green leather with intricate, golden designs twining across the cover. The title said: _True Mythology_.

_What does that mean?_ she wondered. _Does it mean that the mythology is the original stories told, or that the mythology itself isn't a story and is real?_

Curious, she opened the cover. But as she as she opened the book, she kept a wary eye on Kroenen, who was sitting as his desk and appeared to be writing. After last night, she certainly wasn't about to let her guard down. And she especially wasn't going to let her guard down now that she knew Kroenen was the head of the Thule Occult Society that wanted her help. She didn't know anything about the Occult — whatever that was — but if it had anything to do with the Nazis, as it appeared to, then she wanted no part of it.

She turned past the table of contents, and began reading the first page, which was handwritten in green ink. Soon, she forgot about everything around her, and focused on reading.

The 'Nazi soldier', who was really a spy, was alone in the soldier's barracks at the prison, making his last preparations for his mission that evening. As far as anyone else at the prison knew, he was leaving that evening to visit his family. But that was a carefully crafted lie. In reality, he would be heading in the same direction that Ilsa Haupstien had gone when she had left with Erica. With any luck, he would be able to sneak into the mansion around dinnertime and carry out his orders.

Not long ago, he had managed to get a short message to the Captain of his group, all of which were spies stationed throughout Germany. The message summarized the situation, as well as mentioned what should be done about Erica. The man had agreed with him, there was nothing to be done except eliminate all chances that Erica would be persuaded, or forced, into helping the Occult. He had been ordered to murder her.

He felt terrible about having to murder an innocent girl, but he felt some consolation in the fact that he would probably die as well. He knew Ilsa Haupstien wasn't the only one who lived in that mansion. It was rumored that Karl Ruprect Kroenen had taken up residence there as well, Hitler's top assassin and Head of the Thule Occult Society. And chances were, that at some point, he would come face to face with top assassin, and it was likely to be an encounter that ended not in Kroenen's death, but his own.

_I still feel like a hired murderer_, the spy thought. But he also knew the consequences if Erica didn't die, and they were too terrible to be imagined. To think, that one person could make such an enormous difference to the possible course of events!

He loaded a handgun and placed it in his coat, then started loading the second one.

"I'm sorry, child," he said, speaking aloud as if Erica were really standing there, "But you must understand. You cannot possibly be ignorant of your part to play, for good or ill. The sacrifice of your life will mean the salvation of thousands of others."

Several hours later, Kroenen still sat at his desk making sketches and writing notes off to the side of the meticulously detailed diagrams. He looked up at the clock with the planets spinning around its face, it was 5:00 pm. Time certainly did fly when you were absorbed in the task at hand. He realized that they had missed lunch several hours ago, and wondered if Erica was hungry. He hadn't thought about it since he didn't eat.

He glanced towards Erica, who was reading the last of the stack of books. The others sat in little piles around her on the floor. She was sitting cross-legged in front of the roaring flames in the fireplace, reading and looking with obvious interest at the pictures framing the pages in front of her. He watched as she traced an intricate Celtic knot with her finger. It was obvious to him that she had chosen to sit with her back to the fire because she could see everything in the room and he couldn't get behind her. _At least she knows something about protecting herself,_ he thought,_ It seems that she's already learned an important lesson: watch your back_—never _let your guard down._

His thoughts turned to the book they had found in her suitcase. It had really been a stroke of luck, and it had given them a further advantage over her. And, as they had many books on the subjects she enjoyed reading about, it had seemed obvious that they try that route to gain her trust. As he had suspected, the books in his study fascinated her. He had been very careful that the books she looked at were generally harmless, mostly recounting what she considered 'legends' and 'mythology', just in terms that probably seemed impossibly specific to her — but that was because they were _real_.

He looked back at Erica. She was leaning so close to the book that strands of her long brown hair cascaded down to pool on the yellowed pages. The firelight and shadows played over her features, making her grey eyes particularly intense, the flickering light making her cross necklace sparkle. She sat so still, and the scene was so perfect and undisturbed, that it reminded him of Classical Greek Sculpture that had spontaneously come to life.

Erica continued reading, unaware of Kroenen's watching eyes. Strange thoughts entered her head as she read, but she brushed them away as if they were spider webs. But gradually, they became more persistent, demanding her attention with voices that got progressively louder. _What is evil? How is it different from good? Is there an in between? Which is stronger? Which is right? Is there even such a thing as good or evil? If there is, what separates one from being the other? Or do they blend together at the edges and make a hazy place that is both?_ _And what is the difference between a cult and a religion? Why is one seen in a more negative way than the other? Where do you draw the line? And who drew it to begin with?_ The thoughts were so outrageous, so mixed up and intertwined, she couldn't believe they belonged to her. It was almost as if voices, whispering voices, each one different, was inside her, talking. _It sort of reminds me of how I thought the books were whispering about me—_ But that thought was instantly crowded out by a flood of others, each whispered by a different voice. The books _were_ whispering, but their voices were inside her head!

_Good and evil, which are you? _one demanded.

_Shall we tell her what she is?_ asked a higher pitched voice.

_What are you? Which do you choose? In between places are dangerous, they tear you in half— _hissed another.

_Why one religion and not another? Which one is right? Are any of them?_ said a woman, her voice like shifting sand.

_What is right and what is wrong?_ A child asked in a singsong voice, _Which is silent? Which is song? Let us lead you on to your confusion, all you believe is but delusion._

_What do you believe?_

_Silly fool, doesn't know her own mind—_

_Little one, _boomed another from above her. It was different than the others, it was full of power and command.

Her head jerked up to look, and though she saw the ceiling and top of the bookshelves above her, over top of them, like a ghostly image, was the burning city. Above it, tentacles came through the blood red clouds, black smoke winding around them. _Little one, _the booming voice repeated. She stared transfixed as a tentacle swept towards her as if to pick her up. She didn't even think to run. What was the point of resistance? Even fear seemed far away, it was just a nagging feeling at the back of her head. _Erica_, said a voice. The huge tentacle wasn't far away.

_What do you want?_ she thought, truly wondering.

"Erica?" asked another voice.

The ghostly image disappeared. Erica blinked, feeling like she had just come out of a trance. She tried to think, but her brain felt as slow as molasses. Who was talking to her?

"Erica?" the voice repeated.

She looked towards the voice. It was Kroenen sitting at his desk. She was sitting on the floor in his study, reading by the fireplace.

"Deep thoughts?" he asked, seeing her confusion.

"Yes, you could say that." she said, and then glanced uncertainly down at the book in her lap. _What just happened_? she wondered.

"Would you like to share them? You look confused. Perhaps I can help."

She hesitated, then remembered the voices, the thoughts, all the questions. Questions to which she didn't know the answers. Maybe he knew them.

"I—I was wondering what it's like to be evil." Erica said.

Kroenen leaned forward on his desk to look at her. _Maybe that wasn't such a great question to ask him, _she thought, _He might think I meant _he _was evil. — Wait, he is, isn't he?_

"Not all that different from being a normal person." he answered at last.

"But how can you say that? It must be different." Erica insisted.

"I have often wondered what it's like to be a good person, for you see, though someone can become evil, they can never be completely good, they will always have the smallest seed of evil inside them. And since a person always has evil inside them, being completely evil doesn't feel a lot different."

_I wonder how he knows? Is he admitting that he knows he's evil?_ Erica thought, _Based on what he said, doesn't that mean I'm evil, too?_ She wasn't sure if she was surprised to find that out. It was scary, but in a way, it made sense.

"I've never thought about it that way," she said at last.

"No, of course you wouldn't," Kroenen said, seeing the perfect opportunity to play with her mind, and in so doing, convince her to help them, "Everything is based upon a person's perception, and how others influence that person's perspective. Through your entire life, people have been influencing you without you even knowing it. Influencing you in everything from your religion," he gestured at the cross on her necklace, "to your sense of ethics. And those people were influenced by the people before them, and they were influenced by the people before them. So, you see, you have to throw all that away in order to _see_, to be able to develop your _own_ opinions."

"I don't quite understand…" she said, having the feeling that she was on the brink of understanding something that would change her life, change everything.

"For example, in a war, one side may say the other is evil, and though it may be true, the other side may believe that they are right and just, and the others are evil. But that also means both sides could be evil, or both could be good, which makes one wonder why they bother to fight at all." he said.

"Oh! I think I understand now," she said, "It really does have to do with you perception."

Suddenly, she fell silent.

"Is anything else troubling you?" he asked.

"The way evil is portrayed in books, evil always seems so powerful, but then suddenly looses to good against all odds. I've often wondered if it ever happens the other way, sort of like a reverse cycle to keep everything balanced. If good reigns for a long time, to correct the balance, does the same happen to evil? But then they're perpetually losing to each other, just going around in a huge loop, over and over and over again…" she trailed off, the concept was mind blowing! And _that_ was just assuming that there was fairness in the universe, that there was a balance to things. But people always said that life wasn't fair, and it wasn't—was it?

Just then, the door to the study opened. Both Erica and Kroenen looked up, Ilsa was standing in the doorway.

"As it is 6:30, perhaps the two of you would be interested in dinner, since the kitchen staff tell me you never appeared for lunch." she said.

"Yes," said Erica, suddenly realizing that she was hungry. If things kept up this way, she'd never eat properly. Her mind turned back to the voices, her questions, and Kroenen's answers. It was all so confusing, she didn't know what she should believe anymore.

The spy crept through the mansion. He could smell food cooking, the kitchens and dining hall couldn't be far away. He had arrived without incident, leaving his car half a mile away and proceeding from there on foot through the rain. Then he had snuck into the mansion through the stables.

He turned some more corners, and then, when the servants were taking the food out to the table, and the cook's back was turned, he sneaked through and hid in a food pantry. He kept the door open a crack, and through the crack, he could see through the servant's door into the dining hall. In the dining hall, sitting at the table, was Erica. There was another woman sitting there as well, but the spy paid her no mind. Karl Kroenen was nowhere in sight, but then again, the spy had a very limited view. Kroenen could be in the room, the spy just couldn't see him from where he was hidden.

All that remained now, was to sprint out and shoot the girl before anyone realized what was happening. Beyond that, he could only pray that he could escape, but he knew it was unlikely, as the noise from the shot was sure to alert Kroenen that something was going on. And, considering that Kroenen was the Head of the Thule Occult Society, he wasn't going to smile and say: "That's too bad." The price for killing Erica would certainly be the spy's life, and he hoped that if it came to that, that the top assassin simply killed him on the spot. The spy didn't think he could stand what the rumors said happened to people that made Kroenen really angry.

The spy looked at Erica again, sitting at the table, completely unsuspecting that her life was at stake.

_I'm sorry, Erica,_ the spy thought, reaching into his coat for his gun, _Oh, so sorry._

Kroenen stood at the windows at the far corner of the room, his hands behind his back, gazing at the rain trickling down the glass. He was standing mostly in shadow as the dining hall was only lit by the fireplace and candles on the table. Erica watched him uncertainly from where she sat at the table with Ilsa.

_Doesn't he _ever_ eat?_ she wondered for the second time that day.

She looked down at her soup bowl, thinking. Something was distracting her, other than all the questions and resulting confusion running rampant through her head. What was it? Her brain felt so — busy, as if it were trying to tell her something. Flashes of images appeared involuntarily in front of her eyes, all of them mixed up and making no sense to her: Kroenen standing by the window, a person running, the servants walking behind her, shadows from the fire, blood on the carpet, rain trickling down the glass — and over it all was a sense of that something was different, out of the ordinary. And she got the feeling that whatever it was, she didn't like.

"Erica?"

She opened her eyes, she hadn't even realized she had closed them.

"Are you feeling alright?" asked Ilsa.

"Yes, fine." Erica lied, picking up her spoon and starting on her soup.

Just as she was about to eat her soup, she suddenly felt sick to her stomach. _Oh no,_ she thought, _Not again. What now?_

She was about to get her answer.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a blur rushing towards her. Instinctively, she jerked around to look. A man was running through the door that the servants used to get to and from the kitchen. But this man was not a servant, and, most frightening of all, he was aiming a handgun at her!

Erica didn't even think twice, she dove out of her chair, and threw herself flat on the floor. She heard a shot and felt the wind of the bullet as it passed within inches of her head. She heard Ilsa shouting something, but it was in German, and Erica couldn't understand her.

Feeling a shadow fall over her, Erica rolled over onto her back and looked up. A man dressed in a Nazi uniform stood over her, a grim expression on his face as he aimed the gun at her again. Totally defenseless, Erica held her arm up in front of her in a feeble attempt to protect herself. Just then, she saw another, darker blur that leapt onto the table and jumped to the floor, landing between her and the man. It was Kroenen. The man pulled the trigger and another shot rang out. Kroenen jerked slightly as the bullet hit him almost pointblank in the chest, then looked down at himself as if in bemusement. The man holding the gun looked shocked that Kroenen wasn't dead.

Kroenen suddenly flung out his arms, and a long, steel blade suddenly extended from each of his wrists. Faster than Erica could see, Kroenen swung them toward the man. In a few seconds, it was over. The man didn't even have time to scream.

Erica stood up shakily, staring wide-eyed at the dead man lying on the floor. Then she looked at Kroenen. His arms were at his sides, and both blades were stained crimson. He, however, wasn't bleeding, though she could plainly see the bullet wound in his chest. In fact, Kroenen didn't even seem to _care_ that he had been shot. The only difference was that, standing so close to him, she could hear a different ticking noise coming from him, similar to the sound a clock makes when it is broken and the gears are grinding together.

Kroenen turned to face her. "I suggest that you don't go anywhere until you've learned to defend yourself," he said, in a voice that was so calm, it was if nothing had even happened, "It seems you are a major target for assassins, and that news flies fast. Too fast. In fact, I believe I now have an appointment with Schenck tomorrow, and I would hate to miss it. Also, in the future, if you wish to live, you must listen to your premonitions, or you'll quickly end up very dead."

Shortly thereafter, Kroenen escorted Erica to her room while Ilsa was organizing a search of the mansion to make sure no one else had snuck in. After closing the curtains and searching Erica's room, Kroenen left, shutting and locking the door behind him. This was more for Erica's safety then to keep her from escaping, which he doubted would happen after that man had tried to kill her.

Erica, for her part, just drifted around in a daze. She didn't particularly care that Kroenen had locked her in her room. _He tried to kill me, _she thought dazedly, _That man tried to kill me. Why? What have I done that someone I don't even know would try to kill me? He tried to kill me…_

No one else had crept into the mansion.

However, there were several sentries who were going to pay for their negligence. Kroenen would see to that, providing Ilsa hadn't already shot them dead.

Kroenen was in his study, but not the one that Erica had been in. He was in the study that was _underground_ the mansion. After all, this study had better medical equipment, and he was going to have to repair himself after getting shot in the chest. This study was coldly lit, and everything was very bare and austere. As he laid out the necessary equipment, he was mentally cursing the man that had been stupid enough to think he could kill Erica without being caught. And certainly that man couldn't have been so stupid as to think that after all that time Kroenen had spent looking for Erica, that Kroenen was about to let her be murdered. Clearly, _someone_ had leaked information, and if he caught them, they would pay dearly for it. In fact, as Kroenen had a good idea who had leaked information, he now had a pressing appointment with Schenck tomorrow, and wouldn't Schenck be surprised to see him? And surprise would certainly be one of the _last_ things Schenck experienced before he died. And even if Schenck hadn't been the one to talk about Erica, the man was immensely annoying. Besides, his death would be one more safeguard against him talking.

And the questions Erica had asked him earlier! He had thought the books would have an effect on her, but hadn't expected the results would be so strong. In a matter of hours, he had managed to throw her into a state of mind where she no longer knew what she believed, and that would make it almost child's play to get her to assist the Occult, as she would be more open to new ways of thinking— _their_ way of thinking! He had become the teacher and she the student without her even realizing it! And her questions had shown she had some level of trust in regard to himself and Ilsa, and that would make it less complicated to talk to her.

The door opened, and Ilsa came in.

"I believe I have requested several times that you knock before entering." Kroenen said.

She shot him a withering look with her ice blue eyes.

"You say that every time." she said.

"And you continue not to do it."

"That's beside the point. I wouldn't have come down here if I didn't have something important to say."

"So you didn't come to watch the show?" he asked, a hint of amusement in his voice as he indicated the various medical apparatus laid out on a table.

"No. I came to talk about Erica," she shook her head as if in disbelief, "It's a wonder she's not paranoid. She probably thinks this is the second time someone's tried to kill her in less then two days."

"It won't happen again. I intend to teach her to defend herself."

Ilsa laughed. "That should be interesting. Make sure I'm there to watch. The second anyone points a weapon in her direction, especially you, she'll scream bloody murder."

"I'll have you know she trusts us, both of us. At least, just a little, but it's a start."

"Yes, she _will _have to trust us. Grigory is very interested in meeting her, as soon as she's more sympathetic to our cause."

"And _that_ should be a very interesting meeting." Kroenen said.

Still in a daze, Erica lay down on the bed and turned off the light. _He tried to kill me, _she thought as she drifted off to sleep.

She was back in the hall. The shadows were chasing after her, flowing in a contorting wave that poured down from the walls. She ran — suddenly, someone grabbed her arm. She tried to free herself, desperate to get away from the shadows flowing toward her, but it felt like her arm was in an iron vise, she couldn't get away! Then, she heard a ticking noise coming from the person holding onto her. She looked up in fear and in sudden recognition, staring up at the smooth black mask.

"I know who you are," she said, "Kroenen. Please, let me go. I have to get away!"

"You can't escape," he said, "Even now, the shadows draw closer around you, are burrowing deeper into your heart. You've fallen just a little farther towards the darkness. You're becoming one of us, can't you feel it?"

"Let go!" she shrieked, struggling ineffectually against him. The wave of shadow was only a few feet away. She couldn't let it touch her, "Let go and go away!"

"Let go? Go away? You're the one holding onto us, you know you need us! You belong with us! We can help you. Why won't you let us help you?"

"No! No! Never! —It's just a dream, this isn't real!"

"Yes, this is a dream. But what are your dreams but intensified reflections of your inner turmoil? Your actions, your feelings, your conflicts have created this, they show what you are. Your dreams lay your heart and soul bare to your eyes that refuse to see the truth. But then there are your visions that show you what will be, what you know will be…"

"Get out of my head!"

"You're the one who brought me here." Kroenen whispered, "Poor lonely, abandoned, lost you. Your only friend is darkness. Can't you feel it's cold embrace?"

The wave of whispering shadows pooled around her feet and then rose higher, wrapping around her like a strong ocean current intent on pulling her down. She panicked, and tried desperately to pull away, but he held her tight against him with both arms.

"They won't hurt you, little one. I wouldn't let them. Listen to what we're, what they're, offering you. Only we can help you."

"Erica, wake up!" she implored her sleeping self.

"Yes, wake up flee from what you are! Run away from yourself and be tortured by visions of what will be! We can help you! The nightmare will end!"

"WAKE UP!" she screamed.

Erica sat up in bed, awake, the sound of her scream still echoing in the air. This was the second time in far too short a time that she had woken up screaming. Her throat was raw and her heart was pounding in her chest. And her arm hurt. _What? Why does my arm hurt?_ she wondered. She looked down. On her upper right arm, was another black bruise, but this one was in the shape of a hand, as if someone had held onto her tightly without letting go.


	6. Learning to Dance

Chapter Six: Learning to Dance

Disclaimer: Hellboy characters do not belong to me. However, Erica is mine.

Author's Notes: Thanks so much for the reviews Psycho Llama, Blu Embyr, and DarkCloudRider! Yay for fans! By the way, ideas on the plot would be helpful, if anybody has suggestions after reading this. And I think reading _The Phantom of the Opera_ may have affected my writing…ANYwhoo…In this chapter, a week has passed and Erica has started to get used to living in the past. She also discovers that there is something to be said for shutting and locking your bedroom door. Later on, she has an unpleasant encounter with the leader of the Occult: Raputin! Also, more of this chapter is from Kroenen's perspective. Don't you love it? Please review!

Erica sat up on the edge of her bed, simply thinking. She had woken up early and had gotten dressed, putting on a black, V-neck T-shirt and dark blue kapris from her suitcase. She had decided to go barefoot, and, as always, she wore her cross necklace. A few days ago, they had returned her suitcase to her, along with all of its contents. She had been very happy to get it back, as she had been wondering what had happened to it and hadn't even known that they had it. Fortunately, both her bruises and burns were gone, she had gotten tired of them _really _fast. And as for the hand-shaped bruise that had been on her arm, it had been gone by morning, so she had dismissed it as a figment of her imagination.

Erica glanced out a window, the sun hadn't even risen yet. She didn't know what had woken her up, normally she didn't wake up this early except when she had to go to school. But that was behind her, she didn't go to school anymore. Well, at least not a high school, or any sort of school someone would normally think of. In the past week, she had spent a lot of time in Kroenen's study/library, learning from the books and her new 'teacher'. However, despite the fact that Kroenen had saved her life, she still considered him a little scary, fear seemed to follow him like a cloud, infecting nearly everyone and everything around him. And it didn't help that he always wore the same, strange black mask, it gave him a frightening air, and certainly wasn't beneficial to his image of a 'teacher'. And beyond that, the books in the library still whispered to her. Because of this, needless to say, the lessons were _very_ interesting and were never boring, not like the lessons in school.

The day after that man had tried to kill her, the weather was really nice, and Kroenen said he had an appointment with Schenck and couldn't take her to his library/study until later. So Ilsa had taken a break from whatever she disappeared to do during the day, and had taken Erica on a tour of the extensive grounds around the mansion. They had visited the stables, the gardens, and a pond that was full of brightly colored fish. She also met some of the sentries and tried to talk to them, but she couldn't understand them, because they didn't know English and she didn't know German. Erica decided she would have to learn German soon, she wanted to know why the sentries seemed to get so tense around her, like they thought she was going to kill them or something. But maybe it was because of Ilsa, Ilsa had mentioned something about 'punishing' a few sentries that hadn't been doing their jobs. At any rate, Ilsa had promised to teach her German. Kroenen returned later that evening, and Erica caught a glimpse of him as he disappeared around a corner. His black uniform was spattered with blood. And since she remembered the mysterious lack of blood when he had been shot the night before, she could only imagine what Kroenen's appointment with Schenck had really been about.

The day after that, Erica had also explored the mansion, after being given permission to do so. She had spent hours wandering down corridors and in and out of rooms, looking at paintings and interesting objects that she found along the way. The mansion was so maze-like that more than once she had gotten lost and had to ask a servant to show her the way back. But in all her exploring, three things were forbidden to her: she was not to go up to the attics, nor down to the cellars, the lowest levels of the mansion that were underground. She was also forbidden to try to go through any doors that were locked. She had followed these rules, briefly wondering why she wasn't allowed in those places. She had decided that based on the other two people living here, she _really_ didn't want to think about what might be in those places. But it was far more likely that they just didn't want her there, just like anyone else wouldn't want a guest going through all their belongings.

And _then_ there was the one day when she had defense training, which hadn't gone very well. Kroenen had been teaching her to fight with a staff, basically a long wooden pole. At the end of ten minutes, Erica had fallen down more times then she could count, had a similar number of bruises, and had only succeeded in hitting Kroenen once, whereas he _never_ missed. She had fallen over again, and he had bent down to help her up, and she had hit him as hard as she could in the stomach, purely out of anger and frustration. Far from looking startled, Kroenen had actually laughed, which hadn't helped her mood. Shortly thereafter, when they had started again, he deflected her pole and it hit her in the face, hard enough to make her nose bleed. That was when they decided it was a good idea to stop, and resume her defense training at a much, _much_ later date.

That was how she had spent that week, her time split equally between exploring and reading in the library. _I can't believe it_, she thought, _I'm actually starting to get used to living here, in the past, with two _Nazis_ of all people!_

She gazed out the glass doors to her balcony. They had given her a new room shortly after that man had tried to murder her, saying that she'd be safer there. Erica could believe it. The room, like her last, and was very high up, at least three stories, and overlooked a courtyard.

On a whim, she stood up and walked over to the balcony doors. She brushed aside the red, sheer curtains and opened the doors, stepping barefooted out onto the white balcony. The air was pleasantly cool and clear, and a soft, pale mist curled around the railing and hung in the air. The sun was just beginning to rise, and flung all the colors of the dawn onto the mists, staining them with its radiant colors. It was then that the mist seemed to be beckoning to her, as it always did, inviting her to dance. _Well, why not?_ she thought, _No one will see me_. And with that, she danced over and into its midst. The mist curled its white tendrils around her, wrapping itself around her outstretched arms and weaving through her long brown hair.

Inside the mansion, Kroenen walked down the corridors, heading towards Erica's room. To his surprise, the door to her bedroom was just barely cracked open. Not wanting to startle her, he knocked softly on the door. There was no reply. He pushed open the door and walked into her bedroom. The room was empty, but he noticed that the doors to the balcony were open, the curtains stirred by the breeze. He briefly entertained the thought that she might have tried to escape, but he dismissed it, knowing that the balcony was too high up for anyone but himself to climb down. That had been the purpose of giving her that room, to keep her safe from both things she might do, and things others might do. And he seriously doubted that she would be tempted to try to climb down or escape. Any doubts he had were silenced, however, when he spotted a figure moving out on the balcony. Quietly, he walked over and stood in the shadow of the doorway, watching her. The early morning mist wove around her as she danced, looking for all the world like a nymph from out of Greek mythology. A ray of sun played across the crescent scar on her left arm as she raised her arms to the sunrise, as if welcoming it back. Kroenen smiled behind his mask, she certainly didn't dance the way people did at the parties the German aristocrats threw on different occasions. Her dancing reminded him more of a swallow, flitting here and there and spinning gracefully just for the pure fun of it.

He was quite enjoying her 'dancing', when she stopped, the mist was disappearing, fleeing before the rays of the sun. Without a dancing 'partner', she stood next to the balcony railing, looking very lost and staring forlornly after the mist as it retreated across the countryside. Knowing she would come back inside soon, he decided to speak before she turned and saw him.

"Someone should teach you how to dance properly."

Erica jumped in shock. Startled, she spun around to face him. _Just how long has he been standing there?_ she wondered, seeing Kroenen standing in the shadows next to the balcony doors. She could feel herself blushing with embarrassment and turned her head away.

"Can you waltz?" Kroenen asked, finally breaking the silence.

"No."

"Would you like me to teach you? You would be able to dance very well if you were taught how. I believe Ilsa will insist on it in any case, as there is an upcoming party that we have all been invited to."

"A party?" Erica asked, looking up curiously.

"Yes. We will discuss the details over breakfast. Ilsa is already waiting for us downstairs."

XXXXX

As usual, Erica was the only one eating. Ilsa had already eaten before they arrived and was now drinking enormous amounts of coffee, due to the fact she had been very busy with the Occult and had gotten very little sleep. Kroenen sat across from Erica, the table in front of him bare. As far as Erica had seen, he never ate. That was _another_ thing that she was getting used to.

As Erica was finishing her glass of milk, Ilsa spoke.

"The three of us have been invited to a Masquerade Ball the day after tomorrow," she indicated the invitation lying on the table, "You may go if you wish, Erica. We will not force you to go, but I think it would be a wonderful opportunity for you to meet other people and be introduced to the rest of society."

Erica was amazed that they were even _offering_ to let her go somewhere besides the mansion. True enough, they would go with her, and everyone at the Ball was sure to be involved with the Nazis, the Occult, or both— but still, it sounded like fun. And it would be a nice change from the routine she had fallen into.

"Yes! Of course I'd like to go!" Erica said excitedly, "Only, I don't have a dress or anything nice to wear."

"We've been meaning to get new clothes for you anyway," Ilsa said, "You can't go outside in this weather, or in public, dressed like that." she waved at Erica's T-shirt, kapris, and bare feet with a wave. "Only school boys get away with dressing like that, and only in the summer. I'll have some servants look through the wardrobes and so on and see if they can find some clothes for you. And as for your costume for the Masquerade Ball, I've already seen to that."

Erica looked at her curiously.

"What do you mean?" she asked.

"You'll see," said Ilsa with a secretive smile, "I know you'll like it, I think you'll find yourself right at home at the party."

Erica thought for a moment, remembering how _boring_ adult parties could be. And from films she had seen, they looked especially boring in this era.

"Am I going to be the youngest one there?" she asked.

"There should be a few other people your age, or slightly older," Ilsa said, smiling, "Mostly the sons or daughters of the other people attending. You should fit right in. And don't worry, Masquerade Balls are _never_ boring, particularly with the crowd of people who'll be there!"

_The Masquerade Ball should be interesting, to say in the least,_ Erica thought, hearing Ilsa's words, _And I'm not sure if that's a good thing or a bad thing._

"As for dancing, someone will have to teach you, and I don't have the time to do it myself—"

Once again, Erica wondered what Ilsa was so busy doing. The only time she ever saw Ilsa, other then the day that they had toured the grounds, was at breakfast and dinner, and that was it.

"I have already offered to teach her." Kroenen said quietly.

"And what did she say?" Ilsa asked.

"Um, actually, I never got a chance to say anything," Erica said, blushing a little at the memory of Kroenen standing in the doorway watching her, "But my answer is yes."

"Good. Start right after you're finished breakfast. I'll have one of the servants find a dress for you to wear, Erica. Now that that's taken care of, I must be going."

Ilsa stood up and left, and on her way out she ordered some servants to find clothes for Erica, as well as a dress for Erica to wear at her dance lesson. Hearing this last order, two female servants came over to Erica.

"Please, Miss, come with us," one said in accented English, "You'll have to try everything on to make sure it fits— you're so tall—!"

"We will meet in the foyer, by the staircase," Kroenen said before Erica was swept off.

XXXXX

Erica appeared in the entrance hall wearing a floor length white dress that had flowing sleeves that stopped at her elbows. She had left her long brown hair down, and was wearing white dress shoes. As always, her omnipresent silver necklace was around her neck. Kroenen was waiting for her beside the staircase.

"This way," he said, leading her through a doorway and into a maze of corridors.

Finally, they stopped before a door Erica had never seen, even in all her exploring. The door was inscribed with strange symbols that she couldn't read, and the wrought iron door handle was shaped like a snake rearing back to strike. Next to the door was a small table with a candle, a candlestick, and matches on it. Kroenen went over to the table and lit the candle and put it on the candlestick. Then, picking it up, he spoke.

"One thing must be understood. Do not, under any circumstances, wander off. You must follow me exactly. If you get lost, I will not answer for any misfortunes that befall you."

_Misfortunes?_ she thought, _Let's see, in his head, that translates to 'fate worse than death'. I'll make sure I stay close._

Then Kroenen opened the door, revealing a staircase. He beckoned, and led the way, the candle he carried providing the only illumination in the darkness.

Erica had never been allowed down in the lower levels of the mansion, and for good reason. Unknown to her, an entire network of caverns, tunnels, and rooms were located deep underground the mansion. One of these rooms was Kroenen's 'study' that was really more of a medical room, or a torture chamber, depending on the people inside it. And, as if taking that room's example, all the other halls and chambers were not always what they seemed. Many were deceptively beautiful, just waiting for an unwary person to wander through. Oftentimes those persons were servants who were too curious, and they paid for their curiosity with their lives. And it was to one of those halls that Kroenen was leading Erica now, although arguably, it was one of the more benign ones. She would be safe with him— at least, as safe as someone could be with Kroenen.

In the darkness, Erica soon lost all sense of direction. There were so many crossroads and doors, and some looked so much like the others, that there was nothing to use as a point to orient herself to. All she knew was that they were deep underground, and that in that dark, frightening silence, she would follow the candlelight if it killed her.

Coming to the end of a passage, Erica found herself standing before a pair of double doors that filled the passage from floor to ceiling. The doors themselves were about twelve feet tall, and ebony in color. While she was staring up at the massive doors in front of her, Kroenen set the candle down on the floor, and then leaned on both doors. Slowly, silently the doors opened, and Erica followed Kroenen inside.

They were in an enormous hall. The floor of the hall was made of polished, black marble and had intricate, twining designs carved into the border around the edges. The columns along the walls, as well as the walls themselves, were also made of black marble. The only decoration in the empty hall was a single, silver chandelier that hung from the center of the 20 foot high, domed, black marble ceiling. The highly polished floor reflected the flickering, lit candles on the chandelier. The wall directly across from the doors was completely taken up, floor to ceiling, by a gigantic black and silver pipe organ. Lit candles sat on and around the organ, their light reflecting off its silver accents. The overall effect was magnificent and morbidly beautiful— the perfect place to learn to dance.

As she walked to the center of the hall, her footsteps echoed in the immense space, even the rustle of her dress was audible in the complete silence. Kroenen crossed the hall and went over to the organ. He did something to it, but Erica couldn't see what from where she was standing in the center of the hall. When he was finished, he turned and walked back to her.

"Shall we begin?" he asked, his voice echoing.

He held out his gloved hands. Hesitantly, she took them. At the exact moment they touched, the organ started to play music by _itself_, the notes ringing and echoing, sounding at once both beautiful and eerie. Erica had barely any time to be amazed or startled by this, when Kroenen swept her around in a circle, leading the dance.

Clumsily, she stepped on his feet a few times and tripped over her own, but he was patient and she learned quickly. As they danced, she discovered that her feet were no longer uncertain, it was as if they were following a pattern that she had known all her life. It soon became apparent that both of them were caught up in a music and a dance that they no longer had control over. But she didn't care, and Kroenen didn't appear to care either, it was the most wonderful, beautiful, happiest feeling she'd ever had. In a way it felt like she was dreaming, but she had never felt so _alive_ before, so awake to so many things she hadn't known before. She couldn't name them and didn't know what they were or if they were dangerous, but she could _feel_ them. She could feel _them_ flowing through her veins like fire, but her skin was ice cold. Her white dress and long hair swirled around her, and Kroenen's black trench coat spun around him as they whirled around the dance floor. The polished stone walls and floor reflected their figures, her figure the only white among all the black in the hall.

As they danced, Kroenen noticed a strange spark in Erica's grey eyes that hadn't been there before. He knew what had put that glint in her eyes. He too could feel the dark powers rising around them as they danced. Rising _because_ they were dancing. _It's interesting that our dancing has this effect when it wasn't even meant in the first place,_ Kroenen thought, _The black book said nothing about this, about her being tied so closely to magic_. As the dark power rose around them, the shadows in the corners of the hall quivered, and ever so slightly moved, turning their invisible eyes on the dancing pair in the middle of the hall. The shadows whispered and slid fluidly along, pooling in corners, rushing along the walls, adding to the growing power in the room. The eerily beautiful music coming from the organ seemed to be flowing around them too, almost like water. Kroenen knew that Erica, though she didn't recognize the dark power rising around them and running through them, was enjoying every second of it. _I wonder what the power is planning to do, since it is undirected,_ he thought,_ What end is it trying to make?_

Suddenly, the glint vanished from Erica's eyes, and the smile slowly faded from her face. _She's realized what she's doing, what's happening_, he thought, _She can sense the power. She's become even more like one of us._

Erica was afraid. _What're you doing!_ a voice inside her head screamed, _Do you have _any_ idea what you're doing, what you're becoming a part of! Can't you feel the evil rising around you, controlling you? Break free before it's too late!_ _You're dancing with your enemy! He's not your friend, he's a devil! A demon! _She looked up at Kroenen, the smile fading from her face. If it were possible to dance with death or flirt with danger, then she was certainly doing it. She had to stop this _now_ before something terrible happened!

She tried to pull away from him, but Kroenen only held on tighter. He knew that stopping, without the power having vented itself on something first, was dangerous. In the background, the music from the organ faltered.

Erica, with a sudden burst of strength, yanked away from his grasp. But as she did so, she tripped over his feet and fell toward the stone floor with a startled cry. Kroenen reached out and caught her— and that was when everything turned upside down. He knew that the power had found a route of escape, something to vent itself on. Them!

The black marble hall lurched and tumbled, and the floor buckled under their feet. The walls spun drunkenly, blurring together and then shredding at the edges, huge rips and tears appearing through reality until it was utterly destroyed. And that left them— somewhere Kroenen didn't recognize. Carefully, he let go of Erica and she stood up.

Erica looked around at the familiar, fiery, blasted landscape. She and Kroenen were in one of her visions. _Wait_, she thought, _Kroenen? How did he get here? I didn't know I could take someone with me!_

"Are you really here?" she asked doubtfully, remembering how he had appeared in her dreams before.

"Yes," he said absentmindedly, looking around with obvious interest, taking in every detail.

Erica knew where they were. Once again, for the _third_ time, she was in the burning city. The two of them were standing on a relatively bare spot of ground. Around them, huge chunks of rubble and concrete were piled into miniature mountains covered in broken glass and twisted metal. Tongues of flame shot up among the rubble, and the searing heat from the fires was unbearably close. Erica's eyes watered as she turned her head skyward to face the blood red clouds streaked with boiling, oily smoke. Protruding through the clouds were clusters of copper colored tentacles, each easily as thick as a skyscraper and at least a mile long.

"So this is what you see in your visions?" Kroenen asked.

"Yes. Well, some of them. Please, be quiet." she whispered, staring fearfully up at the tentacles.

It was too late. One of the groups of tentacles had heard, or sensed, their presence. Slowly, agonizingly slowly, the tentacles reached down towards them, writhing like enormous snakes. Instinctively, both Erica and Kroenen dived to the side as one tentacle swung towards them. The huge tentacle missed by inches, and went by so fast Erica knew they would have been crushed if they had stood still. A few feet away, another tentacle crashed into the ground, leaving a two-foot deep crater and throwing dirt into the air. The other tentacles descended around them, thrashing and writhing, slamming into the heaps of rubble and scattering boulders and fire like dead leaves. Erica dodged a tentacle and rolled into the rubble, curling up and squeezing her eyes shut against the embers being thrown around by the tentacles. _Oh my God! Oh my God!_ Erica was screaming in her head, _Those things are searching for us! Somebody help me! Help me stop this! It's all in my head, it's all in my head— I should be able to stop it! Why can't I stop it!_

On the opposite side of the patch of clear ground, Kroenen stood behind the ruin of a wall. _If it weren't for the fact that our lives are in danger— or more specifically, her life, seeing as I'm already dead— this would be interesting_, he thought, _And normally we wouldn't be in danger, if that power in the hall hadn't started this, it would simply be another vision for her, but something's gone haywire. _None _of this should be happening._

He glanced over the wall, to where Erica was curled up on the ground, surrounded by fire and by almost all of the enormous tentacles.

_How fortunate for you, Erica, that this is a vision and those tentacles do not really belong to one of the true Ogdru Jahad, _Kroenen thought, _If it were really _Them, _I wouldn't be able to help you, and nor would I offer my help. I wouldn't dare to help you then, and even if I did, I wouldn't be able to do anything. Such as it is—_

"Erica!" he called.

She looked up from where she lay, completely surrounded by a wall of fire. Then she saw where Kroenen was standing, half hidden, in the shadow of the ruined wall. Tears ran down her face, but he couldn't tell if her eyes were watering from the smoke or if she was crying.

"Please! Help me!" she pleaded.

Kroenen saw one of the tentacles rearing back into the sky, hovering over the spot where Erica was laying. She would have to move, or she would be crushed!

"Erica! Run! Run towards me!"

Terrified, she stared at the wall of fire, and the tentacles swinging around her.

"Run! Run now!"

She stood up and ran for it, straight through the fire, dodging between the searching tentacles. Kroenen ran out from behind the wall, running towards her. They met in the middle and held onto each other.

"Whatever you do," he said, whispering in her ear, "Don't let go, and don't open your eyes."

She closed her eyes and he put one hand on the back of her head, so her face was towards his black trench coat, protected from the flying sparks and billowing smoke. His other arm was wrapped around her back. He looked up. The tentacles, knowing their prey was escaping, snaked over the ground and arched over them like a dome. From the sky, a terrible, infuriated roaring sound came from the creatures the tentacles belonged to. Fire rained down around them.

Behind his mask, Kroenen closed his eyes and concentrated, trying to ignore the roaring and the sound of tentacles thrashing around them. The build up of power from their dancing was nearly spent, it was only a matter of time before this vision ended—or, with the right encouragement —

The sounds of roaring disappeared, along with the searing heat from the fire. Everything was silent and pitch black, and cold, so cold, as cold and dark and silent as the grave.

The next thing Erica knew, she opened her eyes. They were back in the black marble hall. But the shadows were silent and unmoving, and the sense of dark power, of a presence, was gone. The only thing that moved was the flickering flames on the chandelier and candles on the silent organ. That was when she realized what she was doing. She was holding tightly onto Kroenen, her head against his jacket. She could hear a soft ticking coming from inside him, from where his heart should be, and could hear the rasping of his breath through his mask. She looked up, tears sliding down her face, amazed that they were still alive.

Kroenen looked down at her. Even through his gloves he could feel how cold her skin was. Her skin was ice cold, as cold as that of a dead thing, both from the dark power that had touched her, and from being torn free of her vision. And there was something different about her eyes, the dark magic had touched her, and left its mark. Her black pupils were dilated so much that they took up most of her eyes, and the gray around them was nearly black, giving her a wild, almost possessed look.

Erica let go and pulled away, her eyes wide, and ran from the hall, just briefly stopping at the doors to look back at Kroenen standing in the center of the hall, gazing after her. She seemed to hear his voice in her head, echoing his words from the first day she had met him: "_You can run, but you cannot escape…Why are you running? You have nowhere to go_…" She turned and fled, her white dress streaming after her as she ran out the ebony doors, turned, and ran through the dark underground passages and up the stairs.

Kroenen watched her go. He wasn't worried that she would get lost, or stumble across anything harmful. All the magic in the underground rooms had been pulled into this hall and spent, it would take a day or two to return to the level where it had been. For now, she was safe as she dashed through the maze of corridors. He smiled. And she was bound to accept their offer to help after what had just happened.

But Kroenen had another reason for smiling. For when she had pulled away, something silver had caught on a pin on his uniform, snapped, and fell to the floor. Erica's cross necklace lay on the black marble floor at his feet, glittering in the candlelight.

XXXXX

While they were giving Erica time to calm down, Kroenen told Ilsa about what had happened in the marble hall. He also showed Ilsa the cross necklace that had fallen from around Erica's neck. Seeing it, Ilsa smiled. Everything was going according to Grigory's plan. Erica, without her cross necklace, would be completely defenseless when she met Grigory. But before that happened, Ilsa would have to talk to Erica and get her to accept their help, which would give them even more power over Erica. It wouldn't be a difficult task to convince her, as Erica was in a very distressed and emotional mood. Ilsa found Erica in the dining hall, leaning against one of the windows and staring blindly out at the countryside, obviously still recovering from what had happened in the marble hall.

"We can help you control your visions." Ilsa said, breaking the silence.

Erica turned around to face Ilsa.

"Control them? Is that possible?" Erica said, the hope in her voice just a bit more obvious then she wanted it to be.

"Yes. With training you would be able to decide when they would come, when they would go. You could even look farther into them if you wished. Just think," Ilsa said, "no more nightmares, no more visions you can't control."

Erica thought about it. Nothing had helped her visions. In fact, with each successive time they only got worse. She shuddered, remembering her most recent vision, and that Kroenen had had to pull her forcibly out of it. She had to get help, if she didn't, she would probably go crazy. But since this offer of help was coming from Ilsa, she knew she would have to be careful. The offer sounded too good.

"What's the catch?" Erica asked.

Ilsa smiled. Kroenen was right, the girl _was_ learning.

"We will help you on one condition, that whenever you have a vision, you show it to one of us by touching that person."

"Show them to one of you? Why?" Erica asked guardedly, vividly remembering her first night at the mansion, and how they had told her they wanted her to help the Occult. _I don't _want_ to help the Occult, but if they can teach me control—_

"Because though you can't control your ability to see the future, it is very powerful, and very useful. As we have told you, the Occult and the Nazis are very interested in you."

Erica stiffened. "I refuse to help the Nazis!" she said angrily.

"Erica, the Nazis and the Occult are not one and the same, they just happen to be closely intertwined. It is quite easy to separate one from the other, as the goals and ideals are fundamentally different, although some people are members of both. All you have to do is help us, and we will help you."

"No."

"Then go crazy! It's not hard to tell that it bothers you, that your visions take control of you! Without training, they will become so intermixed with reality that you won't be sure which is which! You won't be able to control them! Erica, we offer you our help and ask so little in return. We offer our help out of concern. Please reconsider."

_Offering your help out of concern? Does she really mean it?_, Erica thought, astonished,_ They really want to help me! Of course, do they want to help me purely for their own ends? I don't want to help the Occult! But if I don't do something about this…Oh, what harm could showing them the future do? It's not like I've seen anything likely to happen anyway._

"Alright, my answer is yes." she said at last.

"Swear it." said Ilsa, a smile hovering on her lips.

Erica hesitated for a second. _I hope I'm doing the right thing, _she thought. But something about this didn't feel right. She pushed that feeling away.

"I swear, that in return for your help, I will show you my visions." Erica said.

Ilsa thought over Erica's words and, at last, seemed satisfied.

"We will start your training in a few days," she said, still smiling oddly, "You look tired. You should go and rest."

Erica nodded. She did feel tired. Her vision had taken up most of her energy. _I think I'll go read in my room, _she thought, and then stood up and left.

XXXXX

An hour or two later, Erica had finished her book and was walking down the staircase on her way to the library to ask Kroenen for another. Looking up, she saw a man she didn't recognize standing in the foyer below her. He was tall and his head was shaved, and he had a beard. He was also wearing an odd, intricately embroidered robe._ Maybe I can go back upstairs before he sees me, _she thought. She had no such luck. Hearing her footsteps, the man looked up at her and smiled. Having no other choice, Erica continued down the stairs, stopping three steps from the bottom.

"Hello," Erica said uncertainly, "I've never seen you here before."

She kept both eyes on the man, ready to scream and run if he tried to attack her. And who could blame her? Up to this point, she hadn't had good experiences with strangers in this era.

"You have nothing to fear from me, child," he said softly, "I won't try to kill you like that spy, seven days ago."

"How did you know about that?" Erica asked, eyeing him suspiciously.

"Oh, I know a great deal about you," he said quietly, taking a few steps in her direction, "And I have been waiting so long to meet you."

Nervous, Erica went up a few stairs, keeping the distance between them the same.

"As interesting as this conversation is, I should go find Ilsa and tell her you're here—"

"I already know," said Ilsa, appearing through a door behind the man.

Ilsa walked over to him, and then looked up at Erica on the stairs.

"Come down," Ilsa said, "He's not going to hurt you."

"You can't blame her for being cautious," the man said, "What with everything that has happened to her…"

Erica slowly descended the stairs and stood a few feet away from Ilsa and the man beside her. Erica was having conflicting feelings. _He looks nice enough,_ she thought, _almost kind. But something's telling me that he's more than he seems. There's something different about him, just like Ilsa and Kroenen. He's dangerous, somehow…_

"Erica, this is Grigory Yefimovich Rasputin, a friend." said Ilsa, smiling and introducing the man.

"Rasputin?" Erica blurted out disbelievingly, "But you can't be, you're supposed to be dead, murdered. It's all in the history books—"

"Then your history books lie." he stated calmly, interrupting her.

"No, they don't. Rasputin was murdered at dinner, he was poisoned, shot, stabbed—In short, overkill in the extreme. You can't be Rasputin, because you'd be dead." she reasoned.

"Oh, but I'm _very_ much alive, Erica." he said softly, his eyes never leaving her face.

Erica shuddered. His voice was creepy, so quiet with its Russian accent. And his eyes!

"No," she said, insistent, "You're lying. You're not Rasputin. And this isn't a funny joke, if that's what it's supposed to be."

"It's not a joke, child. I am who I say I am. Of all people on this Earth to meet me, you should know that. Can't you feel it? See it?"

She looked at him uncertainly. Now that he mentioned it, she _could_ sense something from him, but she wasn't sure what. She only knew that it was far different from anything she had sensed from anyone else.

"No," she said, not sure what she really thought, "I don't believe you. Rasputin is _dead_."

"People don't always stay dead," he said, "Similar to your friend Kroenen."

Erica remembered the man that had shot Kroenen pointblank in the chest, and that Kroenen hadn't bled, hadn't screamed, hadn't _died_.

"And who else, besides myself, would know that you've seen the Ogdru Jahad no less than three times?"

Erica noticed that for some reason, at this news, Ilsa's ice blue eyes went wide in astonishment, staring at Erica and Grigory.

"She's _seen_ the Ogdru Jahad?" Ilsa asked, incredulous.

"Yes, in her visions," Grigory answered, "Their mark is upon her, in her eyes."

"The Ogdru Jahad? Is that what those tentacles coming out of the sky were?" Erica asked.

The man nodded.

"But Kroenen could have told you about that—" Erica said, not really believing it.

"No, for you see, he only knows of _one_ of those times, the third one, barely more than an hour ago."

Suddenly, they were interrupted.

"Master." Kroenen said.

Erica turned her head in the direction of Kroenen's voice. He was standing in the doorway, his masked head bowed respectfully to the man. Suddenly, Erica remembered that a few days ago, on her first trip to the library, Kroenen had mentioned something about her meeting his 'leader' soon. Erica knew that Kroenen would not bow before just anyone, this wasn't a joke, it was real. And if Kroenen was being subservient to someone, that presented some very scary possibilities.

"Do you believe me now?" the man— Grigory asked, looking at her.

"He's your Master?" Erica asked in confusion, looking to Kroenen and Ilsa, and then back to Grigory.

"Yes," Kroenen answered, slowly raising his head, "And he is your Master too. You would do well to show proper respect, Erica."

"I have no Master and I bow to no one!" she said, understanding what Kroenen's last statement was hinting at. She was starting to feel frightened.

"I am your Master," Grigory said, "I alone know your true purpose, your true power. I can help you unlock it, help you set it free—"

"You're _not_ my Master! And I don't want to set it free! I can barely control it!"

"And I can help you do that," he said smoothly, barely containing his growing anger, "I believe you already consented to let us help you. That was the first thing you had to do for us to help you. The second is that you show proper respect for your Master."

"You're _not_ my Master! I bow to _no one_!" she shouted, so loud that her voice echoed in the foyer.

"The second you consented to our help you were mine! And while I admire your spirit, you need to be taught a lesson in humility," Grigory said, his eyes glittering with danger, "Don't force me to be the one that teaches you that lesson!"

"You don't frighten me! I bow to no one!" she yelled defiantly.

"Well, we'll just see about that, won't we?" said Grigory, his voice deadly calm.

Erica looked at him and took a few steps backwards. She gulped. _Uh oh_, she thought, _I think it's way too late for me to take the hint to back down._

Grigory stood in the center of the hall, his dark eyes locked on Erica, his arms held out at his sides. Erica could sense Grigory gathering dark power to him. It was collecting in the foyer, just as it had in the black marble hall, but this power was _far_ stronger. So strong, in fact, that it blotted out the light coming through the windows into the foyer. So strong, she could see it sweeping, spinning around the walls like shadows, but it was far darker than any shadow. It was the darkest obsidian, the blackest ebony, the pitch black of complete darkness. Instinctively, she stepped away from the walls, but the dark power started leeching across the floor toward her. She could feel it radiating cold and evil even as she backed away from it. She looked up and realized that she was trapped between Grigory and the shadow-like stuff, she could go no further. The dark shadow pooled around her feet. In desperation, she looked over to Ilsa and Kroenen, who had backed away and were watching silently and impassively, seemingly unaware of Erica's growing terror. Then the dark shadows started whirling around her, climbing higher up her body. Erica couldn't move, her feet were frozen to the floor by the dark power whirling around her.

_Your necklace,_ a voice said in her head, just like the voice she had heard in the hall. The voice was like a ray of light, except she could see it in her head. It almost reminded her of an angel. _Poor child, where is your necklace? What have you done with it? Wretched child, you haven't lost it, have you?_

At these words, Erica's hands flew up to her neck. Her cross necklace was gone! The one moment she most needed it, her necklace was gone!

_Poor, poor child! _the voice moaned, _You've lost it! You've lost it! Where is it? Only that can protect you!_

_I don't know! _Erica cried in terror.

_Look! It's in that monster's pocket! How did he get it? How did that monster get it? You didn't stop dancing when I told you to, and now he has it! Kroenen has it, wretched child!_

_What?_ Erica asked in confusion, _How?_

But the voice was gone, along with everything else. The whirling shadow had completely engulfed her in darkness. She couldn't see! And it was cold, bitterly cold. So cold that it _hurt_, so cold that it felt like fire burning in her veins, even as her blood froze. Erica screamed in pain and terror. There was no echo, only silence, as if she had never made a sound.

"Do you believe in me now?" thundered Grigory's voice in the blackness, "Do you know me for who I am? Tell me who I am!"

"You _are_ Grigory Rasputin! I believe you!"

"Tell me who else I am! Say it!"

"Say _what_!" she cried in desperation.

"Say who I am! What am I to you? SAY IT!"

The freezing, burning pain increased, freezing and eating away at her bones like acid.

"SAY IT!"

"No…"

She knew what he wanted! _I won't say it!_ she thought,_ I will never say that he's my Master! I won't bow to evil! Oh God, someone help me!_

"SAY IT! I WILL DRAG IT FROM YOU IF I HAVE TO! SAY IT!"

The fire was burning her heart. Erica was screaming inside, she opened her mouth to scream, but she couldn't make a sound. Tears ran down her face, and some turned to ice that froze to her cheeks, while others burned like boiling water.

"Never…I won't…"

"SAY IT! I _command_ you to say it, _Acire_! Claim me as your Master!"

She couldn't resist anymore. Besides the pain, he had said her true name, when even she hadn't known what it was.

"Master…" she whimpered pitifully, kneeling on the floor she couldn't see.

The words tumbled from her lips like lead, feeling like they were pulling her soul out with them. She was kneeling, bowing, broken by his power.

From somewhere in the terrible, freezing, burning darkness around her, there came a satisfied sigh.

"Now, Acire, beg your Master for mercy." Grigory ordered.

"Mercy," she begged, barely able to choke out the words through her pain.

"Good. I see you've learned your place. You may go now."

The darkness shredded and sank away from her, letting in a blinding light. Erica, already kneeling on the floor, collapsed and lay limply on the cool stone floor. She was only aware of three, dim, blurred shapes moving above her before she passed out.

XXXXX

Kroenen carried Erica up to her room and left her there, returning to his underground study to think in the silence. _Poor Erica, she should have taken my warning_, he thought, _She needlessly brought all of that on herself. If she had just done what I'd said—but then again, she always has been stubborn. Perhaps it wouldn't have made a difference if she had. Perhaps she would have been taught that lesson anyway._

He sighed. Erica had been so beautiful when she was dancing in the black marble hall. There. He admitted it. She was pretty, though certainly not by the Nazi's Arian standard.

But, she still wasn't perfect. _He_ wasn't perfect, despite all his 'alterations' he had made to himself. Nature itself was never perfect, oddities and freaks always slipped through the cracks somehow. _I wonder if she_— But no, she would run away from him. No one was _ever _his willing 'experiment'. Most likely because not all of them worked out as expected. But the ones that did became his masterpieces. And if he were to ask her _now_, of all times, her delicate trust in him would be shattered, she would think him a madman. _I'm not insane, I'm a genius!_ he thought, _Though I suppose that all geniuses appear crazy to everyone else, and, perhaps, truly are —at least, just a little bit…_

His thoughts turned back to the events in the foyer. Now that Erica was one of them, her training would really begin. Besides what she was being taught already, she would have to be taught to use fear to her advantage. Fear was a powerful weapon against your enemies. Hate was nearly as useful, but a more social weapon. If an opponent's hate was used against themselves, they usually defeated themselves. She would also have to learn to defend herself, now more than ever since she had joined them, however unwillingly.

_Yes, I will teach others to fear you, Erica,_ he thought, _In time, they will fear you as much as they fear me._

A/N: Don't forget, ideas on the plot or events would be helpful, if anybody has suggestions. Also, please review! They really encourage me to keep writing!


	7. The Masquerade Ball

Chapter Seven: The Masquerade Ball

Disclaimer: Hellboy characters do not belong to me. However, Erica and the people at the Masquerade Ball are mine.

Author's Notes: Thanks so much for the reviews Psycho Llama, Blu Embyr, and DarkCloudRider! I love my fans! Cookies and Abe chibies for everyone! And thank you for waiting for this chapter, between spring cleaning and midterm exams at school, I've been extremely busy! Once again, I am open to your ideas, and you had better get them in because chapter eight will be the last one before an enormous time jump in the story of say, a year and a half. Anyway, guess what happens in this chapter? What else? A Masquerade Ball! Also, Kroenen gets very, very jealous. (Please note: in here, Kroenen still has 'normal' hands, and not a mechanical hand.) Everyone review, pretty please!

**Blue Embyr: **I'm glad you've caught on that Kroenen 'likes' Erica, I wasn't sure if it was obviously enough. And I promise to update much sooner next time!

**Psycho Llama:** I did try really hard to make the dancer scene really good. And as for the party, I'm not so sure you'd want to go to it even if you were invited. But, for your sake along with the rest of my reviewers, and I guess, for the people who haven't reviewed, you're all invited! (I'm not so sure that's a good thing, as you'll soon find out.) And as for Rasputin, let's just say he's not finished with Erica yet!

Erica was lying on her bed in her room with her eyes closed. She had just awoken, but couldn't force herself to open her eyes. If she opened them, she might see something that would mean meeting Rasputin hadn't been a dream, and she didn't think she could handle that. _It_ was _just a dream,_ she told herself, not opening her eyes, _Just a dream. Like all the others. It just seemed real. I have nothing to be afraid of. It was just a dream…_

But she knew that it wasn't a dream. And she knew someone was on their way to her room. Call it a premonition. She simply knew. And she had a good idea of why they were coming.

As if on cue, a knock sounded on her door.

"Erica, are you awake?" said Ilsa, calling through the door.

Erica opened her eyes and sat up on her bed. To her dismay—though she had expected it — she discovered she was still wearing the long white dress from yesterday. Seeing this, her hands instinctively went up to her neck. Her cross necklace was gone! It was the first time in a long while that she hadn't worn it, so long in fact, that she felt naked with out her necklace, exposed to everything around her. _I probably am,_ she thought, remembering her encounter with Grigory, and the voice that had spoken to her.

"Yes, I'm awake." Erica answered.

Ilsa opened the door and came in, wearing her usual black military uniform.

"Follow me," Ilsa said.

Erica slid off the edge of her bed and stood, and then mechanically followed Ilsa through the mansion's labyrinth of hallways. Her stomach grumbled hungrily, but that made sense. _Since my encounter with Rasputin looks like it actually happened, and this is morning, that means I haven't eaten since breakfast yesterday._ _Which means that it wasn't a dream,_ she thought, half sadly, half excitedly. Inwardly she frowned at that excitement. Or, at least, a part of her frowned. The excitement didn't belong to her, it just couldn't! What reason did she have to be excited or happy about what had happened yesterday? _What reason do you have to be sad about it?_ the excited half of her seemed to ask. It was like she was two different people in one body, and they were battling for control.

She remembered when she had first seen Grigory, when she had been coming down the staircase. For being Kroenen's leader, Grigory certainly hadn't looked the way she had expected him to look. She had expected him to be a lot scarier in appearance, though there had been something very odd and disturbing about his eyes, they were wild and dark and full of secrets. But at the same time they looked so alive, there was something about them that was dead and infinitely cold and evil.

She noticed that she and Ilsa were standing in front of the door with the wrought iron handle, the cobra rearing to strike. Ilsa picked up the candlestick sitting on the table beside the door. The candle was already lit.

"This way," Ilsa said, as she opened the door.

"Where are we going?" Erica ventured to ask, as they started down the stairs. The door swung shut behind them.

"You know where we're going." Ilsa replied, not turning around.

Erica shuddered in the dark, because she discovered that she suddenly _did_ know where they were going, as if something were whispering it in her mind. _You're going to see_ him_, you're going to see_ Master, the voice murmured. Erica trembled at the word 'Master'. And it was more than the fact that she was afraid of him. She had a feeling that when she had said — no, _whimpered_ — the word "Master," that she had done something irreparable. The words had felt like they were dragging her soul out with them. For some reason, she was reminded sharply of the black book that had the names of the Devil's servants in it. She shook it off. _I'm not his! I don't belong to anyone!_ she told herself fiercely. But those words seemed so…shallow and superficial, as if a part of her recognized that they weren't true, that she no longer belonged solely to herself. That she had— _I haven't lost my soul yet,_ she thought, _At least, I don't think so_. _After all, it's not like I said it voluntarily._

_Oh, but a part of you did, _said a darker voice in her head, _A part of you wanted to say it, not matter how small it was. It just needed… help overcoming the rest of you._

_I didn't want to say it! I fought it as long as I could!_

_You were fighting your own desire to break down and say it,_ the voice said,_ But it doesn't matter now, it only matters that you said it._

_No! I—_ _This is ridiculous! I'm arguing with myself!_

Erica and Ilsa approached a pair of tall doors at the end of the long stone passage lined with lit torches in iron brackets. The doors themselves were tall, and made of dark wood and iron. As Ilsa continued leading the way at the same pace, still carrying the candle, Erica found herself slowing down. But she couldn't stop, as much as she wanted to. Something that lay beyond those doors was pulling her forward.

_I'm so afraid,_ one half of her thought, trembling. The other half spoke, _Coward,_ it said.

_Two people cannot occupy the same place at the same time,_ Erica thought, _One ultimately has to win. Like in a war, one side must win. And until then, no one can say for sure who the victor is._

The doors opened as they reached them, and Ilsa left the candle in a small alcove in the wall as she walked through. Erica's feet pulled her onward into the hall, and they shut after her. It was only when the doors had shut that the pulling feeling left.

BANG!

Erica jumped and spun around, looking back at the doors. This side of the doors had huge, black gears on it, and each one spun rapidly, slamming enormous iron bolts into their brackets, locking them in the hall. Erica slowly turned back to face the hall. Like the one she had danced in, this one had a high ceiling. But in this hall, the floor, walls, and ceiling were made of black, glassy stone. However, the chandelier hanging overhead and the thick columns along the walls were made of wrought iron. And inset into the walls were panels of glass, like windows, through which she could see iron gears and levers moving unceasingly. They were lit from behind by a fiery light that threw shifting shadows through the rotating gears and into the dark hall. They provided a dim, red-orange light that supplemented the few black, lit candles on the iron chandelier. And below the chandelier, placed in the center of the hall, was a rectangular block of black stone draped in black velvet.

Beside the block of stone were two figures, on the left was Kroenen in his usual black uniform and trench coat, standing with his hands behind his back. On the right was Grigory, wearing a black robe embroidered in silver.

There was nowhere else to go but forward.

Erica walked forward slowly, feeling like a beacon in her white dress among all the black. She stopped several meters from the black stone block, eyeing Grigory warily. Ilsa walked over to him and stood beside him, a small smile on her face. Erica almost thought she saw him smile back at Ilsa, before he turned once more to face her. For a moment they stood in silence, the only noise coming from the turning gears on the other side of the glass. They were on one side, she on the other, a no man's land in between them. Erica stood tall, though she was trembling with fear, trying to show she wasn't afraid.

"Don't be afraid of me, little one," Grigory said, "I won't harm you, unless you give me reason to."

"What do you want?" she asked calmly, her words echoing in the hall. The words felt like she was reciting a script, like this was how things were meant to happen.

"The real question is: What do _you_ want?" he smoothly replied, "I could always force you to reveal your visions to us. _Or_ you could assist us willingly."

"It wasn't enough that I swore to help you, was it?" she asked, in a level voice, understanding beginning to dawn on her, "It wasn't enough that I knelt at your feet and called you Master, and begged you for mercy. It wasn't enough." She heard her words tumble out. _Enough for what?_ she wondered. Then, "Forgive me for being cautious, but I will never agree _or_ disagree until I know what you say is true. I know that you can force me to do what you want, but even _I_ can't control my visions."

"I can control them through you, if you force me to."

"Prove it," she said, speaking in a level voice. She wasn't challenging him, she simply wanted to know if it was true.

Grigory walked over to her, closing the gap and coming very close, so close that even with how tall she was, she was forced to look up into his dark, wild eyes. As soon as their eyes met, everything around them began to melt away. But his eyes burned into hers like acid, and his gaze, his power, was scorching and searing her inside and out. It was like being plunged into a pool of boiling water and like breathing fire into her lungs all at once. And like last time, Erica couldn't scream, no matter how hard she tried, no matter how severe the pain was. She couldn't even _move_, and was forced to meet his terrible, blazing eyes. Just when she thought she couldn't endure anymore, they were standing among the rubble of the burning city.

Grigory gazed around at the ashy ruins and then turned his eyes skyward. Seeing the tentacles snaking through the hellish clouds, he _smiled_. His smile was a frightening thing to see. Through all of this, she was unable to leave the spot where she was standing, but she stood there and gasped for air, reassuring herself that she was breathing air and not fire. Even this nightmarish place was better than drowning in boiling water.

"_Acire_, look at me." Grigory commanded.

Erica flinched when he used her true name, but she had to look at his eyes, no matter how much she didn't want to. As their eyes met, everything melted, and she was plunged back into the agony of drowning in flaming, boiling water. Except this time, this time it was dark, and she couldn't see Rasputin anymore. And it was cold. How it could be cold when you were surrounded by fire she didn't know, she just knew that it was freezing cold— and blazing hot, and—

She was kneeling on the obsidian floor of the hall at Grigory's feet, her white dress pooled around her.

"And you know I am capable of much more," he said, gently resting his hand on her head.

"I believe you," she whispered softly, looking down at the floor. All her defenses were gone.

"Though I could force you to assist us, you have no idea how much I would prefer that you do it willingly." he said, looking down at her.

Somehow, she— or something inside her— forced her to her feet.

"What do I get if I help you _willingly_?" she asked, hardly believing she was asking that.

"Training to control your visions. A top position in the Occult. Power, respect from others, and secret knowledge of the Dark Arts that you enjoy studying so much."

"And if I don't?"

"I think you can guess the consequences." Grigory said, with a cold smile.

_What a predicament,_ Erica thought, _No matter what I choose, they'll see my visions. And I can either benefit or suffer at my own choosing. The answer would seem obvious, but it's not. There's more to this than that, that much I'm sure. To say yes would be siding with evil, to say no— _She looked at Grigory. She couldn't tell what answer he was expecting from her. It was like watching a performance where actors played their parts to the end. _Life is a stage, and we are all just poor players,_ she thought, remembering something from her English class. _Strange that Shakespeare would pop into my head when I'm standing at such an important deciding point._ It was like balancing on a thread that was fraying and threatening to break, a decision that would impact her irreparably had to be made.She noticed Kroenen and Ilsa were still standing on opposite ends of the stone block, watching her intently. Seeing them, other thoughts came into her head, spoken by her other side. _You're only seeing one side of the issue. Say no, and you're not only going to suffer, but you'll be betraying your friends._

_Real friends wouldn't ask this of me, _she thought. But she felt uncertain. Ilsa and Kroenen had been, over all, friendly to her. And didn't real friends always do what was best for each other? Were they just trying to help her?

_Appearances are deceiving, _she thought. The other side replied, _You're deceiving yourself that they are your enemies. They're all you have left._

_Real friends wouldn't have brought me here in the first place, _she thought, losing confidence in herself,_ Real friends wouldn't—_

_Stop denying yourself! You know that more than anything else in the world that you want to be able to control your visions. You can either do it yourself, or he will do it for you. You know you want to learn about the Dark Arts, about magic, you've never read anything else! It's a part of you! You cannot deny yourself, cannot deny what you are or what is in your heart._

_No, _she agreed, _I can't. I can't deny myself._

She was hovering on the deciding line, the universe and time stood still as she hovered on the brink.

_This is your last chance to turn back!_ A voice said. Erica recognized it as the one that had asked where her necklace was.

_I can't deny what I am,_ she thought, _And good and evil are all relative to your perception. I've actually found people that can help me. This is where I belong, with people like me. And what they're offering me seems like a fair trade._

_A fair trade! Nothing is worth your soul. And you think they're like you? If only you knew, _the voice said, fading, _But if you believe you are like them, then you are truly lost, poor child._

_I'm not selling my soul, _she thought back angrily.

_Then tell me what you're trading in return._

Erica ignored the voice. It was no more than a whisper anyway. It had probably been a figment of her imagination. But still, she had a nagging feeling that this was a bad idea… She looked back at Grigory and nodded once, very slowly.

"You agree to help us?" Grigory asked.

"Yes," she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Of your own free will?" he asked.

"Yes."

"Then we shall seal our agreement."

He stepped back, gesturing with his hand towards the stone block draped in velvet. She approached it slowly. Now that she was standing so close to it, she could see that lying in the center of the velvet, was a knife with a black handle. The sharp edges of the silver blade glinted in the dim light.

_What am I supposed to do?_ she wondered.

Ilsa and Kroenen came towards her and stood on either side of her. Ilsa picked up the knife in her hand and moved slightly so that the three of them were standing in the shape of a triangle. Then, slowly, deliberately, she drew its point across the palm of her left hand, and then across the back of her wrist, making two small, thin cuts. She handed the knife to Kroenen. He removed the glove from his left hand, and when he did, Erica nearly gasped aloud. His hand was _covered_ in scars, some tiny, some long. Calmly, he repeated what Ilsa had done, the knife leaving a thin line of blood in its wake. He handed the knife to her. She grasped the hilt, and being careful not to cut herself too deeply, made two quick slashes, one across her left palm, the other on the back of her left wrist. Erica looked at Ilsa, who placed her bleeding hand palm down on Kroenen's cut wrist. He reached out and did the same thing to the cut on Erica's wrist. Instinctively, Erica grasped Ilsa's wrist, still holding the bloody knife in her right hand. The moment she touched Ilsa, everything that she knew and thought shattered and rearranged, merging into a new reality. She was still Erica, but she was _different _somehow.

"And then there were three," she heard Grigory say.

She looked at Kroenen and Ilsa in a dazed way, still trying to adjust to herself.

Kroenen considered her. There was something more obviously dark about her now, something different. He had always seen the hint of a shadow in her eyes, which had become more obvious as the days went by. But now, if the light hit her eyes just right, her pupils were pitch black with darkness, a darkness that had no reflection.

_Welcome, Erica, _he thought, _And we've been waiting for you so long._

XXXXX

_**A day later, in the evening:**_

Finally, the night of the Masquerade ball had arrived!

Erica had finished recovering from the events in the black hall the day before, and now she was getting ready to go to the Masquerade Ball. Three hours ago, Ilsa had given Erica a costume, telling Erica that she was to go as Fire. Erica examined her reflection in the mirror. She wore a long, flowing dress that was made of several layers of flame colored gauze and silk. Instead of having sleeves, the dress had a very thin red strap that went over each of her shoulders, reminding her of the dresses she had worn to school dances. Because the dress left her shoulders and arms bare, Ilsa had given her gauzy scarf to tie over the crescent scar on her left arm. Erica also had a mask, decorated with cloth, feathers, and sequins so it looked like fire. Ilsa was going as a dragon and wore a dark crimson dress, a small pair of black bat wings on her back, and a black, horned dragon mask. Kroenen, very fittingly, had chosen to go as Death. He wore black clothes, a flowing black cloak with a hood, and a skeleton mask (over his everyday one). He also carried a long black staff topped with a silver snake head. He had to make a good impression, after all, he _was_ the head of the Thule Occult Society, and many of the Society's members would be in attendance that evening.

As she stood in the entrance hall with Ilsa, preparing to leave, Kroenen approached her. "Wear this," he said, as he handed her a necklace. The necklace had a blood red, tear-drop stone on it that hung from a black leather cord. "It will let us know if you're in danger." he explained.

"And, in the highly unlikely event that either of us are unable to reach you, I want you to take this." said Ilsa, handing Erica a small, thin dagger. Its sheath had two leather straps on it, one at either end. "Fasten it around your ankle. No one will see it because of your skirts."

Erica sat on the stairs and strapped the sheath to her ankle. _I wonder what kind of party we're going to, if they're concerned about my safety, _she thought.

"There are some rules you need to know before we leave. Breaking them could endanger your life." Ilsa said, being very serious, "No one at the party should recognize you unless we introduce you to them. And if someone _does_ know your name and you don't remember being introduced to them, you should instantly be on guard. Don't draw attention to yourself if you can help it, not everyone there will be friendly. Stay alert. Don't eat anything that no one else is eating, and _don't_ eat, or especially _drink_, anything that you don't get for yourself, it might be poisoned."

"Poisoned!" Erica exclaimed.

"Yes, poisoned," said Kroenen, "Though everyone present will be affiliated with the Occult or the Nazis, it is certainly not beyond any of them to remove a perceived threat to themselves, or to strategically murder people in order to gain power."

"So what do I do if someone asks my name?" Erica said.

"Tell them to call you Fire," said Ilsa, "And whatever you do, don't take your mask or your scarf off until midnight. That's when everyone will unmask, and you may show everyone who you really are."

"Okay. So, basically, don't trust people I don't know, watch out for poison, don't take my mask off or reveal my name until midnight. Got it."

XXXXX

Thirty minutes later, they were driving up the driveway of another mansion. As the chauffer drove towards the entrance, Ilsa gave Erica some last minute instructions.

"If anyone bothers you, just tell them you're a friend of mine. They'll most likely leave you alone."

"Most likely?"

"On the other hand they might beg for you to speak to me on their behalf, or, alternately, they might try to kill you. Kroenen and I are in very high positions of power, if you hadn't noticed."

"And be careful," Kroenen said, "Here the Night is not blind, there are unseen eyes everywhere."

Erica nodded and pulled down her mask.

"Stick close for a while," Ilsa advised. Erica nodded and followed her inside.

As they entered the mansion, it quickly became clear to her that the people attending the Masquerade Ball were dangerous. With the majority of them, beneath their proper, aristocratic façade, lay an obsession with the Occult. _Just like me, _she thought. She shook that off, there were more important things to be thinking about. For instance, from overhearing snatches of conversations, she had learned that the people attending the party were made up of three groups. One was German aristocrats who were part of the Occult, and the second was made up of important political or military figures, involved in some way with the Occult. The third group, much smaller than the others, included people who had been invited to or were interested in joining the Occult.

And _everyone_ seemed to know about her. The news that she was attending the party had certainly traveled fast! All around her, people were talking about her, and little else. It was making her extremely self conscious, and she was glad that no one could see her face because of her mask. _I wonder if that's why Kroenen wears one?_ she thought.

She was sharply called out of her thoughts when she realized that she had lost both Ilsa and Kroenen in the crowd. She wandered around the edges of the ballroom, searching among the dancing pairs and the groups of chatting people, trying to find them. Noticing that both of them were nowhere to be found, she began to suspect that they had disappeared on purpose to see how she would do on her own. _Well, fine,_ she thought,_ I'm more than capable of dealing with this. I _was_ involved with acting at school, after all._

"Hello," said a voice, interrupting her thoughts, "I don't recognize you."

She turned around to face a young man who couldn't be much older than her, probably about 17 years old. He was tall and slender, and had blue eyes and shoulder length blond hair. By this point, Erica suspected that she was one of the few in attendance who didn't conform to the Arian ideal. He wore a very elegant pirate captain costume.

"How would you recognize me, even if you knew me?" she asked, "I'm wearing a mask."

He grinned at her response. "Judging by your answer, it seems that we haven't met before. Perhaps you should remove your mask, mysterious lady," he said, "Then we may talk face to face."

"But our faces are masks as well," she said, remembering she wasn't supposed to take her mask off, "With a different mask for every occasion. So it doesn't matter whether we present the mask of our face to the world, or if we wear a false one over it."

_Hey, I'm good at this!_ she thought, _But where on Earth are Ilsa and Kroenen?_

"Very poetic," he said, still smiling, "And very clever. I am Leonard Gilbert. Will you tell me your name, mysterious one?"

"No," she said simply, remembering Ilsa's warning.

Her secretive behavior only increased Leonard's curiosity. "If you will not do me the honor of revealing your name, perhaps you would like to meet my friends?" he asked.

Before she could answer, he had taken her hand and led her over to a cluster people roughly around her age. They turned to face Erica and Leonard, moving aside to let them into the group.

"Leonard, where have you been?" asked a girl dressed like a cat.

"And who is your friend?" asked a boy who wore a snake costume.

"She is a mystery," he answered, laughing, "A very clever mystery. And she refuses to say who she is."

"Refuses to say who she is?" said one very snooty young lady, "How rude. She's too tall. _And_ she has strange eyes."

"As strange as my eyes may be, I'm not being _half_ as rude as you are." Erica retorted, looking down at the shorter girl.

The others in the group laughed. "A mystery _and_ good at comebacks!" exclaimed one young man.

"One must not forget that mysteries can be dangerous, as well as entertaining," said a cold voice.

Erica turned to face s German man with short dark hair that she had noticed staring at her when she first arrived. There was something about him Erica instinctively didn't like, he was obviously in the military, and his ice blue eyes looked on her with nothing but the strongest of suspicion. His eyes briefly glanced at the rest of the young people around her, and, identifying her as being the only one he didn't know, his cold eyes shot back to Leonard who was still standing next to Erica.

"Leonard," he said, his voice as cold as his eyes, "You should know better than to associate with people you don't know. Especially ones that can't speak German."

At his last comment, the man turned his eyes on Erica again, speaking each word loudly and clearly, so everyone nearby could hear.

"Father," Leonard said, "I'm just trying to enjoy myself. And I'm sure she's not dangerous—"

"_Everyone_ here is dangerous. And appearances can be deceiving," Ahren Gilbert shot a look at Erica's mask as he spoke, "But in this case they may actually have truth in them. Remember, Leonard, play with _fire_ and you'll get burned."

He put a heavy emphasis on the word fire, gesturing at Erica's costume.

"Leonard has nothing to worry about from me," Erica said, "But if _you_ play with fire, I can assure you that you'll be burned."

Ahren Gilbert stiffened at her words. "Just who are you, young lady?" he demanded, his voice deadly calm. Only silence answered his question.

"Really, you must tell us who you are," said Leonard, turning to Erica. It was obvious from his expression that he wanted her to say who she was so that his father would leave.

She hesitated and then spoke. "A friend of Ilsa Haupstein."

There was a collective intake of breath from the young people around her, and all of them looked at her in astonishment. Leonard let go of her hand and looked at her in surprise.

"Are you really?" he asked. She couldn't tell if he was afraid or not.

"I don't believe you," Leonard's father interrupted, staring at her with even more suspicion, "Tell me your name and show me your face and I might believe you."

"No," she said coldly.

He narrowed his eyes, stalking closer to her so they were face to face. She held her ground. He stopped less then a foot from her. Suddenly, an expression of surprise appeared on his face.

"Why isn't there a reflection in your eyes?" he said, but his voice was quieter, almost as if he were talking to himself. "I must be seeing things," he muttered, and then raised his voice. "Who are you, that you refuse to reveal who you are? Are you a spy? Or are you telling the truth? No matter, we'll see very soon."

He reached toward her mask to take it off. Erica stepped back, resisting a strong temptation to hurt him. He was making her _very_ angry.

"How dare you try to touch me!" she hissed at him.

He didn't take the hint and reached out, grasping her arm so she couldn't escape. His other hand reached for her mask. Just as he was about to rip the mask away, and Erica was about to reach for her dagger, they were interrupted.

"If you desire to live, you will release her _now_."

Leonard's father looked up at the person that had interrupted, but he didn't let go of Erica. The stranger's black gloved hand grabbed his wrist and twisted, forcing Ahren to let go of her. Only then could Erica see who had interrupted. It was Kroenen.

Kroenen held onto Ahren's wrist tightly, and twisted his wrist again. Erica could almost swear she heard the bones cracking.

"Touch her again, or try to harm her, and you shall meet a fate _far_ worse than death." Kroenen hissed.

Kroenen towered over Ahren, who was obviously in pain and afraid. He had good reason to be, he had just succeeded in aggravating the Thule Society's leader. Ahren had heard rumors of what happened to people who irritated the Top Assassin, the most recent being Schenck's grisly death. Ahren would never have acted the way he had to the young lady if he had known she was a friend of Karl Kroenen. Which meant the young lady knew Ilsa as well, another powerful and influential person. Ahren's thoughts were interrupted by Kroenen twisting his wrist even further.

"I suggest you apologize to my friend. _Now_." Kroenen hissed menacingly. With each word he spoke, he turned the man's wrist even further.

"Forgive my unseemly conduct, lady," Ahren said, wincing and grimacing in pain, "I forgot myself."

"Make sure it doesn't happen again." Kroenen snarled.

As he spoke, Kroenen bent Ahren's wrist so far backwards that the unfortunate man whimpered in pain. Satisfied that the man had learned his lesson, Kroenen released him. Ahren backed away, rubbing his sore wrist. Dark bruises were already appearing on his pale skin. Leonard and his friends watched in silence as Ahren then turned and left hastily, looking pale and very shaken. Ahren knew that he was very lucky he hadn't been killed — or worse. Yes, in comparison, he had gotten off lightly for an offense as high as tormenting one of Kroenen's friends. And that mercy would cost the young lady her life. Ahren couldn't afford to have that girl as another enemy among the highest members of the Thule Society, and he had a strong suspicion that the girl had been this 'Erica' everyone was talking about. He quickly disappeared among the crowd of masqueraders, he had plans to set in motion.

"Thank you," Erica whispered, looking up at Kroenen's masked face.

Kroenen nodded once in response, and vanished into the crowd as well. But she had the distinct feeling that he hadn't gone far.

"A mystery indeed!" said Leonard a bit too cheerfully, trying to dispel the fear and anxiety left by the confrontation.

"A friend of Karl Kroenen! Imagine that!" said the Cat, shuddering.

"Who would've guessed?" said the Snake, "You must be a very dark mystery to know both Kroenen and Ilsa."

"Believe me, you have no idea." Erica said, smiling for some reason she couldn't quiet fathom. In a way, she was enjoying the fear and respect she was getting.

"So if you will not tell us your name, what shall we call you?"

"At midnight I will unmask with everyone else. Then you will know who I am. For now you may call me Fire."

"I suppose it's unnecessary to ask who you're with," said a Peacock.

"With?" she asked.

"Yes, the Thule Society or the Nazis?" the Peacock-girl elaborated.

"The Society." she said.

"See? I told you it was unnecessary to ask her. Since she's Kroenen's friend, it's obvious."

"Obvious?" Erica said, "Oh, I don't think _anything_ about me is obvious…"

Intrigue and rumors flew thick and fast as the night wore on, political and strategic alliances being forged in corners where people whispered, or in groups where people engaged in small talk, testing the waters for potential enemies and allies. Every now and again, Erica spotted Ilsa among those groups, and she had a feeling she knew what Ilsa was doing. But just as soon as she would spot Ilsa, or perhaps Kroenen with people cowering away from him, dancers would whirl in front of her, and Ilsa and Kroenen would be gone. But that was alright, she was actually having fun, between talking to Leonard and dancing with him and some of his friends. As one song ended, and the small orchestra began another, Leonard turned to her.

"May I have this dance, Fire?" he asked, a smile on his face.

"Yes, you certainly may." she answered.

And they danced gracefully across the floor among the other dancers, and some of the other masqueraders turned to watch as the elegant Pirate Captain and graceful Fire danced. They weren't the only ones watching. Kroenen regarded the two from the shadows near the doors that led into the garden, feeling cheated. He glared at Leonard. In fact, he discovered he wasn't simply feeling cheated— he was jealous. _Pull yourself together man! You're jealous of a seventeen year old! Ah well, it's not like he'll be in my way long. After all, it seems his father is planning to poison Erica, _he thought. He looked over to a shadowy corner where Ahren Gilbert was bribing a servant carrying a tray of two wine glasses. Ahren then emptied a small vial of liquid into one of the glasses. Ahren then gestured at the now poisoned wine glass and then over to where Erica was dancing with Leonard. _Foolish man, you're going to pay for your actions. A pity that Leonard doesn't seem to know, then I'd have an excuse to get rid of him, _Kroenen thought. Then, as he noticed Ahren's wife holding the small vial and smiling, a delicious thought occurred to him. He smiled cruelly._ The whole Gilbert family seems to be in on this. It seems that Leonard's life will shortly be over._ And Kroenen slipped through the crowd, following the servant Ahren had bribed, a few gold coins held in his hand.

The song ended, and Erica and Leonard wandered back over to the edge of the ballroom where his friends were waiting. Just as they got there, a servant appeared, carrying a tray of two wine glasses. "Are you thirsty?" the servant asked, indicating the wine glasses.

"Yes, very." said Erica.

Smiling, the servant handed her one of the wine glasses. To her dismay, it was filled with wine. _Oh yeah, like that's a surprise. What exactly were you expecting to be in a _wine_ glass? _She thought. She looked over to Leonard's friends who, like the adults, were drinking from the wine glasses, regardless of their age.

"Do you have water?" she asked the servant, "I don't drink alcohol, I'm too young."

Leonard, not to mention the servant, looked at her quizzically. "No, I'm sorry Miss." the servant said, handing the other wineglass to Leonard, who immediately took a drink, nearly draining the glass.

"Well, alright then," Erica said, looking at the wine doubtfully.

Just then the small orchestra stopped playing, and everyone looked to the front of the ballroom where the host and hostess were standing, as if about to make an announcement. "In a few moments, at the stroke of midnight, we will all unmask, and reveal who we are!" the host announced, smiling.

As one, all the eyes in the room turned to an ornate clock hanging on the wall. There was a tense silence as everyone waited for what felt like an eternity, waiting for the clock to strike twelve.

BONG!

The clock had barely struck midnight when Leonard removed his mask with a flourish, followed by his friends as the first stroke of midnight rang in the air like a signal for a spell. They turned expectant eyes to Erica, eager to see who Fire really was. Erica, feeling excited, reached up and took off her mask, and then threw off the concealing scarf tied around her arm. The clock struck for the second time.

Leonard and his friends stared in shock, their eyes riveted on the crescent scar on her left arm. They were so startled, their minds so numb, that they were frozen, unmoving, in place. The clock struck for the third time.

"Erica!" someone in the crowd whispered, breaking the stunned silence. The speaker sounded both fearful and awed at the same time.

Her name spread like the wildfire she was disguised as, catching on individuals and spreading out across the ballroom, her name leaping from mouth to mouth like sparks blown by the wind. Gradually, all eyes in the hall turned in her direction, as people jostled each other and stood on tiptoe to see the object of all the rumors. Erica felt all those people staring at her, saw so many faces turned to her, heard so many voices murmuring, and yet, she wasn't afraid or embarrassed. Instead, she smiled boldly and stood tall, enjoying the attention and the commotion she was causing. Unnoticed by the gossiping masqueraders, the clock struck, its tone booming out for the fourth and fifth time.

"It's her!"

"The rumors were true!"

"Fire is Erica—"

"See her scar? It's _her_—"

Erica smiled and laughed, unable to contain it. Something was welling up from deep inside her with her laughter, anxious to break free. That something was both her, and not her. It belonged to her, but not to the person she had used to think she was. It belonged to the new Erica.

Around her, Leonard and his friends recovered from their shock and awe, as if her laughter had broken a spell. For the second time that evening, nervous laughter and conversation broke out around her. Elbows nudged ribs and people chuckled as jokes and small talk began again, though rumors and whispers still lingered. They not only lingered, but flew thick and fast about the ballroom, and people shot furtive glances in her direction as they slipped through the masqueraders, trying to get closer.

"What a joke you played on us!" exclaimed the Cat.

"I can't believe we didn't guess who you were!" said Leonard, "With all the clues, I'm surprised we didn't figure it out as soon as we knew you knew Karl Kroenen and Ilsa Haupstien."

"Not all the rumors were true, though," said the snooty girl, taking in Erica's appearance, "They said you had blue eyes. And they said nothing about you being so ridiculously tall."

"You can't believe everything you hear," Erica said, smiling.

"Leonard, I bet your father nearly died of shock when he found out who she really was!"

"Yes, it's a pity we weren't there to see the expression on his face." laughed Leonard.

Caught up in the moment, Erica forgot about the danger, and feeling very thirsty, she absentmindedly took a drink from the wine glass. Ignored by all, the golden clock struck again and again, ringing for the seventh time. As if on cue, in the midst of her happiness, Erica's grin froze on her face and faded. Her stomach felt so strange, like the bottom had dropped out of it, the way you feel when you find out something terrible. And she was rapidly starting to feel very sick. Something was wrong. The clock chimed for the eighth time as her eyes went to the crystal wineglass she was holding, Ilsa's warning echoing in her mind: _"...don't eat or drink anything that you don't get for yourself, it might be poisoned."_

The memory of herself drinking from the glass materialized in her head. _Someone could have easily slipped poison in my drink. Ilsa did warn me, _she thought, _And now it's too late._

Suddenly feeling dizzy, she shook her head, feeling off balance. _Ilsa, where's Ilsa? I have to find her…_Erica looked up, searching for some trace of Ilsa among the crowd. The faces of the people around her, some bare, some having replaced their masks, went in and out of focus before her eyes. The flashy costumes and dazzling colors suddenly looked hideous and garish. _Everything's too bright…I feel so nauseous_. She tried to swallow, but her mouth was too dry and hot. In fact, her insides were blazing hot like she had a fever, but her skin felt like ice.

In desperation, Erica looked around for someone—_anyone_— she recognized, but unfamiliar faces swam around her, and the ballroom walls wavered and swayed as if she was looking through heat waves on a summers day. And looking at that was making _very_ nauseous. _I am _not_ going to be sick!_ she told herself fiercely. Her stomach lurched, and at the same time, her headache got even worse, it felt like her skull was splitting! Erica swayed in place, letting out a low moan as her hand went to her head.

"Erica? Are you alright? You're skin is so pale!" said Leonard, stepping forward, looking genuinely concerned.

Erica blinked slowly. Here was somebody she knew._ His voice sounds so strange and far away..._ The lancing pain in her head redoubled and she swayed again, nearly losing her balance, but somehow managed to hold onto the wineglass without dropping it.

"Erica?" said Leonard, as he reached out and touched her shoulder to steady her, "Are you okay?"

She tried to answer him, but she could only move her lips wordlessly. _But that's alright, it's not like it matters anyway…_she thought, swaying slightly. Everything seemed so far off. Even the multitude of voices in the ballroom sounded muffled and deadened. _I wonder if I'm going to faint?_ she mused. She realized in a numb sort of way that the amulet around her neck felt odd, sort of warm and tingly against her skin. _That's interesting..._ As her vision blurred out around the edges, she saw Kroenen and Ilsa pushing through the crowd toward her. The eleventh chime faded just as Ilsa reached out for her. In that moment, a sort of slow understanding crossed Erica's mind, and her eyes lit up, just a little. _I'm not poisoned, _she realized, _It's another vision._

"Too late," she whispered, with a small smile.

The clock struck for the twelfth, and final time.

Ilsa was an inch from touching Erica, but it was, indeed, too late.

As if she had blinked, the ballroom winked out and Erica was standing in the middle of a snowy mountain pass. A very _cold_ mountain pass. Her teeth started to chatter even as she instinctively hugged her arms around herself to try to keep warm. Her feet, ankle deep in snow, and in dress shoes that left her toes open, were painfully cold. The biting wind swirled the snow around her and whipped around the layers of her thin, flame colored dress. The snow landed in her hair and on her skin, the snow stinging her skin coldly as the wind blew through her hair. Erica hugged her arms around herself, her skin pale and slightly bluish with the cold. _Well, except for being really cold, I feel a whole lot better, _she thought, _I just hope I don't freeze to death in the next few minutes. Assuming that this vision ends in a few minutes. Kroenen had to pull me out of the last one._

She looked up at the mountains around her. They were an inhospitable blue-black and covered in snow, and devoid of anything else but rocks and a few stunted evergreens. The mountains surrounded her on all sides, and stretched off into the distance as far as she could see. The sky overhead was overcast and the snow fell down from it, sometimes gently, sometimes swirled by occasional gusts of wind. The scene would have been pretty had she been in a different situation. _I have to figure out how to stop this and get back before I freeze to death. Now, how did Kroenen stop my vision the last time?_ But she couldn't remember. He hadn't said anything, and if he had done anything, she hadn't seen it, since her eyes had been closed. _Why couldn't they have started my lessons earlier? _she thought, standing in the cold and shivering. _And what am I supposed to see here? If this is a vision of the future, what the heck is so important about mountains in the middle of nowhere?_

She was about to get an answer.

Erica was jerked out of her thoughts when she heard voices and saw something move out of the corner of her eye. Quickly, she turned and looked in that direction, peering through the falling snow. Nearby, three figures were walking through the snow. And though all three were bundled up against the cold, two of them wore black clothing and boots and carried much newer equipment than the other, who was wearing a combination of furs and leather. This last person left enough of their face exposed for Erica to tell it was a man. The other two wore black masks and hoods that concealed their faces. One of the two dressed in black carried a small, brown leather book in their hand.

As the three people approached and came closer, Erica was almost tempted to call out to them for help. _They can't hear you, remember?_ she thought, recalling the vision of her sister Brittany being hit by a car. So Erica stood shivering in the cold, silently watching the people come closer. The man dressed in furs who was leading the other two, suddenly stopped, looking around at the terrain. The person in black and carrying the book came up beside him.

"What is it?" the person asked.

Erica gasped. _I recognize that voice! The person with the book is Ilsa! Maybe she did touch me in time to come with me!_

"Ilsa!" Erica called, "I'm over here!"

But Ilsa didn't turn around or even acknowledge that she had heard Erica.

"Ilsa?" Erica said, not feeling so sure of herself now.

Ilsa didn't move, but continued standing next to the man in furs, appearing to be growing impatient as she waited for him to answer. _So it is just a vision. She's not really here after all, _Erica thought, _But this is strange. I've never had a vision with her in it before. I wonder who the third person is, the other one in black._

"It's this way," the man said, "Not much further."

_Further to what?_ wondered Erica.

Ilsa nodded in response, and they began walking again. Erica watched wordlessly as the man in furs, followed by Ilsa, passed her. As the third figure came close to her, following Ilsa, Erica heard a faint ticking sound that grew louder as the person approached her. That ticking sounded very familiar, along with the raspy breathing. The last figure was Kroenen. _But he's not here either, or he would have heard me when I called, _she thought, watching as the three continued walking through the snow.

Erica watched them as they got farther and farther away. Suddenly, she realized she didn't want to be left standing there, in the cold and the snow, alone. For lack of anything better to do, she followed after them. _Even if I'm invisible to them, it's better than standing on a mountain by myself. Besides, maybe the exercise will warm me up. But I doubt it._ Her skin was already turning an unhealthy shade of blue from the intense cold, and her feet were practically numb. _No wonder those three are wearing all those clothes!_

A blast of wind blew snow in her face, blinding her. She closed her eyes, and at that exact moment, she felts a "pulling" sensation. The sound of the wind _stopped_, and everything vanished. Well, everything but the cold. She opened her eyes, but couldn't see. Wherever she was, it was pitch black. She closed her eyes again, the dark, cold silence reminded her of her encounters with Grigory—

Just as abruptly as it had stopped, the world started up again, but this time it was full of the babble of voices and warmth. Erica's eyes flew open. The first things she saw were Leonard and his friends grouped around in a circle, but they were giving her a lot of space and were shooting fearful glances in the direction of someone next to her. That was when she realized Ilsa— minus her black dragon mask— was standing beside her, and Kroenen had his hand on her bare shoulder. Barely a millisecond later, Erica felt the wineglass in her hand turn so cold it that felt like it was burning her skin. Her eyes darted to it just in time to see the condensation on the outside freeze, and then the wine inside the wineglass _froze solid_ almost instantaneously. The next thing she knew, the wineglass shattered, the pieces exploding outwards from the abrupt and extreme change in temperature. The tiny, sparkling pieces fell to the floor with a crash and then splintered and skittered across the floor. At the same time, Erica uttered a sharp cry of pain, a cry almost as sharp as the crystal shards that pierced her palm as the glass exploded.

On reflex, her hand curled in involuntarily, driving the glass shards deeper, and she shrieked again. Tears sprang to her eyes and ran down her face. She cradled her right hand with her left, and slowly uncurled her right hand. She didn't get far before the pain forced her to stop. Her right hand shook as her scarlet blood poured out over her pale skin in tiny rivers, running around the shining glass shards, crisscrossing her palm and wrist like veins. Erica stared in pain and horror, a horror that was closely matched on the faces around her.

"Erica!"

She realized someone was calling her name, and had been for a while. She looked up. Ilsa was standing in front of her, but unlike the other people around her, Ilsa didn't look at all horrified about the glass embedded in Erica's hand or the blood. Erica felt the pressure of a hand on her shoulder and looked up at Kroenen. In her shock and pain she had forgotten they were there.

"You had a vision. I had to pull you out again. It seems I was a bit too late," he said, looking at the glass in her palm, "You were too far gone for Ilsa to do it alone."

Kroenen reached for her wrist, but she jerked away, still cradling her hand, holding it against her chest. Blood ran down her arm and dripped off her elbow onto her dress and the floor.

"Don't touch me!" she said, barely managing to choke out the words.

He moved towards her again and she shrank back, but this time he was handing her a handkerchief made of cloth as red as blood. Accepting it, she awkwardly wrapped it around her hand, leaving it very loose.

"Can you walk?" Ilsa softly asked.

Trembling, Erica took a step and nearly fell. She was barely able to catch her balance. Her legs felt like jelly, they shook unsteadily under her. As if sensing this, Kroenen swept her up in his arms in a whirlwind of her flame colored silk skirts. He held her as easily as if she weighed nothing.

Suddenly, Leonard gave a low moan, and a grimace contorted his face for a moment. He swayed and then collapsed to his knees, and then fell over — dead. Everyone gasped and moved back, and Erica stared at Leonard, looking very startled. A sharp cry of grief came from Leonard's mother, who rushed over followed by Ahren, who looked very pale. He looked from Erica in Kroenen's arms, to his dead son lying on the floor. "How…?" Ahren began, bewildered.

"I warned you," said Kroenen, "Your son has paid the price of your foolishness. He is dead, from the poison that you meant for Erica. I will deal with you and your wife later."

Kroenen turned away and followed Ilsa, who strode in the direction of the door to the ballroom. "Move!" ordered Ilsa, gesturing angrily at the people in the way. Everyone stepped aside, forming a path to the door. Ilsa started down the path, her dark crimson skirts trailing after her. Carrying Erica, Kroenen strode after Ilsa, leaving a trail of blood behind on the floor that led back to Leonard's body lying among the glass on the floor. Seeing the three of them, the masqueraders gave them a wide berth, their staring eyes and whispers following the three out of the mansion and into the night.

Author's Note: I hope you enjoyed it! Please tell me any ideas you have for my story, and remember, chapter eight will be the last one before an enormous time jump! Review, pretty please! (Can you tell I like exclamation marks!)


	8. The Hourglass and Shadow Games in the Sp...

**Chapter Eight: The Hourglass and Shadow Games in the Spider's Web**

Disclaimer: Hellboy characters do not belong to me. However, Erica is mine.

Author's Notes: Thanks so much for the reviews DarkCloudRider, Psycho Llama, Nightcaster, Blu Embyr, and Thrior! I love my fans! Cookies and Abe chibies for everyone! I would have updated sooner, but my computer got a virus and I had to get rid of that before I could keep writing. Also, I am still open to ideas and suggestions. Just keep in mind that chapter nine will be set at least a year in the future from this chapter. Anywhoo…This chapter begins after they just get back from the masquerade ball. A little later on, Erica begins learning to control her visions, which doesn't go so well. And she has an interesting conversation with Kroenen which _also_ doesn't go so well. Also, I tried to put a little more humor in this chapter. Everyone review, pretty please!

**DarkCloudRider**: You would've wrung Leonard's neck? I think poisoning was a much less messier way to get rid of him, if you know what I mean, but to each his own, no? And I hope you think this chapter rocks too!

**Psycho Llama**: It was my intent to trick people into thinking she'd been poisoned! And you'll see how Erica feels about Kroenen killing Leonard, hehehe.

**Nightcaster**: Yay! Another reviewer! Thank you so much for straightening me out on several points, I made a few key changes to things in this chapter based on your suggestions.

**Blu Embyr**: Another person that thinks I've got Kroenen portrayed correctly? Whoohoo! I got it right!

**Thrior**: Thanks for the review! Kroenen is one of my favorite characters from Hellboy too, my other is Abe.

They were back at the mansion and three of them were gathered in Kroenen's study. No one had said a word on the way back, other than Ilsa who had barked a sharp command in German at the chauffer. As soon as they had gotten back, Kroenen had carried Erica to his study, Ilsa following behind them. After setting Erica down in a chair (one of several that had been added to the room since her arrival), Kroenen had taken off his costume, it had turned out he had simply worn it over his normal black uniform.

Erica sat in the chair, her mind in a whirlwind of confusion from her vision, Leonard's sudden death, and the pain of her injury. Around her, the books on the shelves were whispering excitedly. She closed her eyes, listening to them. But she found that this time she couldn't understand what they were saying, they were murmuring in another language that sounded like the wind ruffling through the pages of a book. But even though she couldn't understand the words the books were using, she knew the subject they were talking about. Blood. Her blood. And it wasn't the first time that blood had been in this room, and it wouldn't be the last. She shook her head to clear it and opened her eyes.

Kroenen was seated at his desk. He was taking out various metal objects from the desk drawers and carefully laying them out on the desk.

"What're you doing?" Erica asked, watching him from where she sat by the fireplace, cradling her hand against her chest. Ilsa had given Erica a new red handkerchief since the one Kroenen had given her had been soaked with blood.

Kroenen paused and turned his masked face in her direction.

"Setting out my equipment so I can remove the glass shards from your hand."

"What?" Erica said, alarmed, "Don't hospitals exist in this time?"

"Yes," he replied calmly, "But the closest one is hours away, and I am _far_ better than any 'doctor' they have there."

Erica wasn't sure she found this statement comforting, especially when she looked at the variety of _things_ he was laying out on his desk. She didn't know it, but they were the same equipment he had used to suture his hand the night she had bitten him.

"I can do it. Just give me a pair of tweezers and I'll take care of it. I was in Girl Scouts, so I know first aid." Erica said, not really believing she could take care of an injury this bad.

"No you won't," insisted Ilsa, who was also sitting in a chair next to the fireplace. She was still wearing her dragon costume, though she had taken off her mask. "You're going to need stitches, and that glass is very deep in you hand."

"Stitches?" Erica said. She knew they were right. She just couldn't bear the thought of anyone touching her hand and making it hurt even worse. The mere thought of that made her start shaking, causing a drop of blood from her hand to fall onto her flame colored skirts.

"I _have _graduated from medical school," Kroenen said, sensing her anxiety, "Several years ago, in fact."

"Well, alright then," Erica said, consenting though she still felt unsure.

"Sit here," he said, indicating a chair on the opposite side of the desk from his own. She took the handkerchief off her hand and sat down, placing her hand on the desk. She watched nervously as he picked up a pair of tweezers. _I just know this is going to hurt_, she thought.

"Don't watch," he suggested.

"I have to."

He nodded. The tweezers had barely touched the glass shard when Erica yelled.

"Ow!" she yelped, pulling her hand back. She cradled her injured and bleeding hand and glared at him. "Don't touch me again unless you have a death wish!"

Kroenen inwardly chuckled at the irony of her words. "Oh, I think I'll take my chances. You're in no condition to hurt anyone, let alone kill _me_. And besides, that glass will have to come out unless _you_ have a death wish and want to die a _long_, _slow_, _painful_ death from infection."

She muttered something inaudible in response.

"He's only trying to help you. He won't do anything beyond what is necessary." said Ilsa, watching from the chair next to the fireplace.

"Define necessary." mumbled Erica, but she slowly placed her hand back on the desk, knowing what Kroenen had said was true.

"If you hold still it won't hurt as much," Kroenen said, "Moving just makes the injury worse."

"I don't think I'll be able to hold still when you start pulling the glass out." Erica said, telling the truth.

In response, he grasped her wrist and pinned it down to the desk with his gloved hand. "Close your eyes," he said, "And try to relax your hand. And _don't_ try to pull away."

Erica had a feeling she wouldn't be able to pull away even if she tried.

"I think I'll go change my clothes," said Ilsa, standing up and walking towards the door. She paused in the doorway. "Be careful," Ilsa said, and then left. Erica had a feeling Ilsa's last comment had been directed at Kroenen, but she didn't know what it meant. _Be careful of what?_ Erica wondered.

"Close your eyes," Kroenen said.

Erica hesitated for a moment, and then did as he said. She felt the tweezers bump into the glass shard and gritted her teeth to stop herself from screaming. Then he pulled on the shard. The pain was too much, her eyes flew open and she felt her hand twitch reflexively, trying to wrench away. But Kroenen still had her wrist pinned to the desk with one hand and she couldn't pull away. He continued taking the glass shard out, seemingly unaware that he was hurting her. Erica's eyes watered from the pain, and as the glass shard slid out, she couldn't stop herself from crying out.

"Ouch!" she yelled.

"Sorry," Kroenen apologized, placing the sliver of glass on a piece of white cloth, "You really are going to have develop a higher tolerance for pain."

"I think, for the moment, that I'm not going to ask why that is." Erica said, her voice sounding strained in her ears.

And so it went, each of the minutes dragged out to a long eternity. Erica lost track of time, and, after a while, she sat quietly as he dug out each piece of glass. She felt sort of detached from everything, and though her hand hurt, it was no longer unbearable. _Great, _she thought,_ I bet that means I'm probably going to pass out from blood loss._

Kroenen, for his part, didn't mind her silence. He was completely absorbed in the task at 'hand'. As he took out each piece of glass, he discovered that he actually felt guilty about hurting her, despite the fact that he usually enjoyed inflicting pain on others. He knew he was actually helping her by taking the glass out, but that didn't stop him from feeling guilty. It was because of his guilt that Erica's hand didn't hurt quite as much, he just barely entered her mind and blocked as much of the pain as he could. She didn't even realize he was doing it.

As Kroenen concentrated on pulling out another glass shard, he remembered what Ilsa had said before she left. He was slightly annoyed that Ilsa had felt she needed to warn him. _Ilsa didn't need to tell me to be careful. I swear, sometimes she acts like I can't tell an enemy from an ally. Erica is one of us, I would never purposefully hurt her._ _And contrary to what Ilsa might think, I _do_ have self control. It's not like I'm not going to get carried away. _He glanced up at Erica. Her skin was pale from blood loss, and though her face was mainly calm, he could tell that she was horrified that her blood was all over everything. Behind his mask he grinned liplessly, knowing that all the blood made her injury look worse than it actually was. Blood wasn't something that bothered him, and compared to some of the things he had done to people, her injury was barely a scratch.

When he was sure he had gotten the last of the glass out of her hand, he cleaned the cuts and then sutured them closed with small, perfect stitches. When he was finished at last, he put down the needle and released his grasp on her wrist, breaking his contact with her mind.

"That wasn't so bad, was it?" he asked.

Erica slowly moved her injured hand and examined the stitches in a dazed way. Then she glanced at the small pile of bloody glass shards lying on his desk.

"Thank you," she murmured.

"You're welcome. It's late, you should get some sleep," he said.

She nodded, and, as if in a dream, she stood up and left, leaving him alone in his study.

XXXXX

The moon was large and full, shining brightly through her window. Erica changed her clothes and blew out the numerous candles in her room. The smoke twisted and contorted in the moonlight with a life of its own. Erica lay down on her bed and watched. She closed her eyes, and before she knew it, she was asleep.

She was back in the hall with the window.

Kroenen stood beside her, gesturing to her to look out the window. She slowly turned her head and gazed outside into the night.

The window overlooked a garden. But this was not a normal, everyday sort of garden. This garden was withered, the flowers and grass were brown and dead, tangled twigs were all that remained of the shrubs. The few trees were twisted and leafless, stretching their naked branches towards an overcast night sky.

Suddenly, she found herself outside, in the middle of the dead garden, standing in a small courtyard paved with cobblestones. She was alone, Kroenen hadn't come with her.

Nearby, a fountain with a grotesque gargoyle in its center spouted foul, black water from a jar the gargoyle held in its claws. The basin of the fountain had algae and lichens all over the cracked, grey stone. The only other vegetation that looked remotely alive was the brownish-green moss between the cobblestones and some ivy climbing the high, stone walls that surrounded the garden. There were dark clouds overhead, and a rumble of thunder sounded in the distance. Erica shivered in the darkness and stared at the misshapen gargoyle in the fountain. Its mouth was wide and full of sharp teeth, and it's monstrous bat wings were spread behind it. The gargoyle grinned manically at her, its eyes bulging and forked tongue sticking out.

"Aren't you going to greet me?"

She whirled around. Behind her, leaning casually against as tree, was a man. Or was it a shadow? It seemed to be both, but at the same time it seemed to be more than either. In any case, he was tall and thin. And he had no face. In its place were flickering, shifting shadows that were somehow expressing his emotions.

"How rude of you to stare," he said, with the mouth she couldn't see, "And we haven't even been introduced, Erica."

"If we haven't been introduced, how do you know my name?" she asked, watching him cautiously.

"Oh, I know everybody's name. Don't you know mine? No? I didn't think so. But here, while we are in this place, let us call each other what we are. You may call me the Shadow Man. I will call you _Acire_."

She flinched when he uttered her true name, the one Grigory had used.

"You don't like that, do you?" the Shadow Man observed, though how he could see without eyes, she couldn't tell. "It still hurts, what he did to you. Though I can't say you weren't deserving of it. Servants should learn to be humble. But, putting that aside, I will call you Erica. At least for now. "

He turned his shadow head towards her, still leaning against the tree.

"There's something of great importance that I want you to see. Look over there." he said, pointing, his hand as dark and shadow-like as the rest of him. She looked, and gasped.

Floating in mid-air, a few feet above head height, was a giant hourglass. She couldn't believe she hadn't seen it before, the hourglass itself was at least as tall as a person. But there was something odd about this hourglass. The top part was nearly full of pure, white sand. The bottom part was almost empty, except for a small pile of black, ashy sand. The fine white grains were trickling down in a slow, thin stream from the top part, turning black as they fell to the bottom of the hourglass. As she watched the thin stream of sand, she got a nagging feeling in the back of her head that this hourglass had something to do with her, that it was very important. But she didn't know why.

"What is it?" she asked, turning back to face the Shadow Man.

"It is of _great importance_ to you, and that is all that I will say, other than this: Beware of the moment when the white sand runs out!"

"Why? What does the hourglass have to do with me?"

"I can't tell you that. You have to figure it out for yourself. But be aware that you no longer have all the time in the world."

She looked up at the hourglass, and then back to the Shadow Man. "You didn't bring me here just to see an hourglass, did you? What do you want from me?" she asked.

"Oh, nothing really." said the Shadow Man coolly, standing beside the tree. "You have only two things I want. The first, your ability to tell the future, is in my service though you perhaps have yet to realize it. The other, however, you have insisted on withholding from me most tenaciously. That is, until recently. Lately, you've begun to 'slip'."

He left the shadow of the tree and glided toward her. The shadows in the garden followed and gathered around him, bringing a wave of cold along with them.

"What is it? What's the second thing you want from me?" she asked, shuddering in the cold that radiated from him.

"Don't you know?" he asked, his shadowy face looking at her directly. "And I thought you were so very intelligent. It is a most valuable treasure, the most valuable thing you posses. Don't you know of it?"

She shook her head. Somehow she got the idea that he was smiling wickedly, though she could see no discernable features on his shadow face.

"Why," he said, "your soul, of course."

Lightning flashed overhead, lighting everything bright as day. Everything except for that terrible, somehow grinning, shadow man.

XXXXX

Erica awoke with a start. The pale light of dawn was just starting to come in through the windows. She sighed and sat on the edge of her bed. _Why can't I ever get a decent night's sleep without having nightmares? _she thought, holding her head in her hands. _And such a strange nightmare too. I wonder what the Shadow Man meant about the hourglass…_

Pushing that thought aside, she stretched, stood up, and wandered over to her dresser. She sorted through the drawers, looking for something to wear. Most of the drawers were full of dresses and skirts that the servants had managed to find for her. Erica wrinkled her nose at the dresses. Finally, she decided to wear black jeans, a dark crimson T-shirt, black shoes, and the necklace Kroenen had given to her the night before. Erica went over to a mirror and started to pick up her brush— and stopped. Lying beside her brush was a small bundle of black roses, tied with a scarlet ribbon.

"How did these get here?" she wondered out loud, picking them up.

The black roses were very pretty, and someone had thoughtfully taken the thorns off. Erica looked around her room, there was no sign that anyone had come in during the night. She shrugged. Perhaps a servant had brought the roses in. She placed the bundle of roses in a vase and then pulled one rose out and put it in her hair. She admired the affect in the mirror before heading downstairs for breakfast.

As usual, Kroenen and Ilsa were waiting for her, but this time Ilsa was still eating.

"Good morning," Erica said.

Ilsa and Kroenen nodded in response as Erica sat down at the table and reached for a pitcher of milk with her right hand. As she did so, her eyes fell on the sutures that crisscrossed her hand, the black thread standing out sharply against her pale skin. She didn't think anything of her sutures until she tried to pick up the milk pitcher with her right hand. The instant she did so, the sutures tugged painfully and she nearly dropped the pitcher. As Erica caught the pitcher with her left hand and carefully placed it back on the table, Ilsa spoke.

"I like the black rose in your hair," Ilsa commented, "Where did you find it?"

"Oh, I found a bundle of roses in my room this morning." said Erica, who was now struggling to pour the milk pitcher with her left hand.

Unseen by Erica, who was otherwise distracted, Ilsa looked knowingly at Kroenen. She knew he had left those roses in Erica's room last night. Kroenen appeared to be gazing out the window, but Ilsa knew better. Eventually, Kroenen turned his masked face towards Ilsa, and seeing her expression, shrugged slightly. He had crept into Erica's room last night and left the roses beside her brush, a place where he knew she would find them in the morning. The black roses were sort of a 'get well' present, he had given them to her because he felt responsible that she had been injured at the party. _And_ he felt guilty about having hurt her when he was taking the glass out of her hand.

Kroenen looked back at Erica, who was awkwardly trying to pour milk using her left hand. Trying was the operative word considering she had spilled some of it on the table. Suppressing a smile, Ilsa reached over and took the milk pitcher and then poured the milk into Erica's glass.

"Thank you," Erica said, looking a little embarrassed.

After a long silence where Erica and Ilsa ate breakfast and Kroenen quietly watched them, Erica decided to clear up something that had been on her mind since they had left the party last night.

"So, will anyone explain to me what happened last night at the party?" Erica asked.

"You went into a vision," said Ilsa, "Kroenen had to pull you out of it, you were to far gone for me to do it alone."

"And a very interesting vision it was," Kroenen said, "Considering it involved Ilsa and myself but not you."

"That's not what I meant," said Erica, "I already knew that. What I want explained is why Leonard died, and why the wineglass in my hand shattered."

There was a brief silence as Ilsa and Kroenen looked at each other, and then back at Erica. Of all the questions Erica could have asked, she had to ask about Leonard. Last night, after Erica had gone to bed, Ilsa and Kroenen had discussed what they were going to say about Leonard's death. In the end, they had decided to tell her the truth. But they also knew they were going to have to handle this carefully considering that Leonard had been Erica's friend, even if it had been for only a few hours.

"The reason Leonard died was because his family was trying to poison you," said Kroenen, "I personally saw his mother and father bribe a servant to give you poisoned wine."

"And? That doesn't explain why Leonard is dead and not me."

"I had reason to believe that Leonard was in on the plot. So I in turn bribed the same servant to give the poisoned wine to Leonard and not to you."

"Why? Why not just get rid of the poisoned wine to begin with? Why did you have to kill Leonard? He was my friend." Erica said, looking hurt.

"Traitors and poison-ers don't make good friends, Erica," said Ilsa, trying to be tactful, "And if the poison hadn't worked, they would have tried something else, something that may have been more difficult to stop."

"But why did you have to kill him? You only had reason to believe he was helping to poison me, and yet you caught his parents in the act! Why didn't you kill them instead?"

"Oh, believe me, they will be dead very shortly if they aren't already," said Kroenen, "Some soldiers recently discovered that Ahren and his wife have unwisely decided to try to flee the country instead of confronting me. On last report the two of them were about to be ambushed by soldiers near the German boarder. And it would be in Ahren's best interest if he and his wife managed to get shot to death during the ambush, considering what the Thule Society does to traitors."

"But why kill Leonard? You didn't have proof that he had done anything. As far as anyone knew he was completely innocent."

"There is no such thing as an innocent human being," said Ilsa, "And if Leonard hadn't been poisoned, he would have been killed along with his father and mother for trying to poison you."

Erica sighed, having reached an understanding. _They're right. In the long run, I'd rather have it be Leonard than me,_ she thought. And it was too late anyway, what was done was done. Leonard was dead, and there was nothing she could do about it.

"Please understand that I'm not angry or upset, I just wanted to know why he died, that's all." she said, "Now, what about the wineglass?"

"The reason the wineglass exploded is the same as the reason why you burned your handprints into Schenck's desk," said Ilsa, who had spent several hours studying that subject with Kroenen the night before, "And that reason is this: You haven't learned control. And because you haven't learned control, there is always leftover power because you didn't look into the vision as much as you could. The leftover power varies in how much there is, and when it's only a little, nothing happens and it simply dissipates. However, when you have a particularly strong vision that isn't explored completely, there's a huge build up of undirected power that has to go somewhere. And in your case it does something in connection with your vision. With your most recent vision, it was very cold, so the leftover power went out and froze the closest thing that wasn't you: the wineglass in your hand."

"So the reason I burned Schenck's desk was because in my vision I was surrounded by fire, so the leftover power burned the closest thing to me, the desk I was touching." said Erica.

"Correct," said Kroenen, nodding, "And because of that it's time we start training you to control your visions. After all, we won't always be nearby when your necklace senses you're about to have another vision."

"So that's why the pendent on it felt so strange last night!" Erica exclaimed, her hand going to the red stone pendent on her necklace.

"Yes, each of us carries a copy of it with us," said Ilsa, taking hers out of a pocket in her jacket, "When yours senses you're about to have a visions, our amulets let us know. That's why we rushed over to you last night. Unfortunately, we were a little late."

"And to prevent last night's events from repeating themselves, you are beginning your training immediately," said Kroenen, as he and Ilsa stood up from their seats, "Come with us."

XXXXX

It turned out that the place where they were going to be training her was the same black marble hall as the one where Kroenen had taught her to dance.

"Why here?" Erica asked, looking at the huge silver organ that filled one wall.

"Because you're less likely to damage anything," said Kroenen, "And, as you may remember, power has a tendency to become trapped in this room. That will force you to have to do something with it, instead of letting it dissipate."

"We will have to hold each other's hands," Ilsa said, holding out her hand to Erica, "We have to be touching to be able to come with you."

"Why do both of you have to come with me?" Erica asked, taking Ilsa and Kroenen's hands.

"So we're prepared if something goes wrong," said Ilsa, taking Kroenen's hand, "If you go too far like you did last night, it'll take both of us to pull you out of your vision."

"Oh, and Erica," Kroenen said, "until you have learned to control your visions, you must _never_ move from the spot where you are standing. If you do, it's like accepting that what you see is real, and you could become trapped in a vision permanently. That could have happened last night if I hadn't been there."

Erica nodded in response.

"Are you ready?" Ilsa asked, her blue eyes meeting Erica's gray ones.

"As ready as I'll ever be," Erica said, dreading that something terrible was about to happen.

"Close your eyes and concentrate," Kroenen instructed, "Clear your thoughts and only focus on your ability to see the future. Only think about visions you've had before starting with the oldest to the most recent. You don't have to focus on them all. Those are the ones I want you to choose to look at, as they are less dangerous than trying to see new ones."

She did as he said, remembering all of her visions in turn. Suddenly, it felt like a strong wind was pushing and pulling on her. She opened her eyes. The marble hall was gone. She was surrounded by darkness. And most frighteningly, she was alone.

A white light appeared out of nowhere, blinding her with its intensity. When it was gone, she was standing on the sidewalk, the scene in front of her frozen, her little sister getting hit by a car. The scene flipped and the ground under her feet jerked out from under her, making her fall. As she fell, the bright light surrounded her. It vanished, and she hit the ground, and was instantly soaking wet. She looked up, the streets around her were flooded, the buildings were on fire, people were screaming. Another earthquake hit and a burning telephone pole collapsed beside her and the flames shot toward her. She threw her arms in front of her face—a bright flash of light— She was falling, and suddenly hit the ground and was running, the shadows were trying to catch her! She tripped and rolled— A bolt of lightning flashed outside the window, lighting the hall with an eerie, electric blue light. Thunder crashed behind her, startling her, and Erica spun around. Someone was standing in front of her! Lightning struck in front of her, shattering the scene as if it were glass— and she was running down a dark hall again, fleeing in panic, the shadows whispering and reaching out to catch her. She ran, gasping for breath, trying to escape—

The floor vanished and she fell with a scream, landing among fire scarred rubble and flames that seared her skin. Oily black smoke billowed around her making her eyes water uncontrollably. The sky above her was burning too, the hellish red and orange clouds streaked with black smoke— a flash of light— she was curled up on the ground, monstrous tentacles smashing everything around her to bits, flinging burning embers and rubble through the air. Then everything started spinning so fast it shredded apart— she was lying in the snow looking up at the mountains around her. They were an inhospitable blue-black and covered in snow, and the sky overhead was overcast and the snow fell down from it— a flash of light— A wave of whispering shadows pooled around her feet and then rose higher, wrapping around her, intent on pulling her down. And they weren't just pulling her down, they were drowning her, blinding her eyes, filling her mouth and nose. She couldn't breathe! She panicked, clawing desperately at the thick shadows, but something was holding her hands and she couldn't move them—

— she fell towards the black marble floor, stopped by two pairs of hands that caught her and helped her back up. She back was in the marble hall with Kroenen and Ilsa.

"Is this real?" she asked, unsure.

"Yes, of course," said Ilsa.

Erica smiled with relief. Then her stomach heaved and she let go of their hands before collapsing to her knees and throwing up.

"Perhaps it was an oversight to let you eat breakfast," Kroenen observed.

Erica knelt on the floor, gasping for breath. Her heart was beating unbelievably fast, she couldn't believe her heart could beat that fast without her having a heart attack. She could hear the blood rushing through her veins, and there was a pounding pain in her head, it was the worst headache she had ever had. She was shaking all over from exhaustion, and her limbs felt as heavy as lead. In short, she felt terrible.

Kroenen and Ilsa helped her up, and her legs were shaking so badly that she had to lean against Kroenen so she wouldn't fall over. As she stood up, she tasted blood in her mouth and on her lips. A few seconds later, her nose started bleeding. Fortunately it was only a few drops of blood, and then it stopped.

"That's enough," said Kroenen, seeing that Erica was completely exhausted, "Congratulations on seeing things that _you_ chose. But you _must_ remember that until you have better control, when you have a vision you _must not move_. We had to pull you out of it again."

"But you did very well for a beginner," said Ilsa, "We'll continue your training tomorrow."

"Tomorrow!" Erica exclaimed, which resulted in her nearly falling over.

Kroenen caught her and picked her up as he had at the masquerade ball.

"Yes, tomorrow," he said, "With enough training, things like this won't happen to you anymore."

Erica was too tired to argue with them. In fact, she was beginning to fall asleep while Kroenen held her. Kroenen carried her through the underground corridors and up the stairs to her room. He laid her on her bed and then started to leave, but stopped in the doorway, turning back to face her.

"Rest, I will meet you in my study after dinner. And remember not to touch any of the books."

He left, and Erica was asleep before he finished closing the door behind him.

XXXXX

When Erica finally awoke, she was ravenously hungry. Looking at a clock on her beside table, she realized it was time for dinner. She was feeling much better, so she decided to go downstairs to the dining hall to get something to eat.

Kroenen never showed up during dinner. _But that's not really surprising, it's not like he eats anything anyway_, Erica thought as she walked to his study after dinner. She opened the door to his study and went inside. He wasn't there. _I must be early, _she thought, glancing at a clock near the fireplace. As she waited for him, she drifted over to his desk, remembering Kroenen's warning and carefully avoiding going near the bookshelves.

Unlike when she had been here last, Kroenen's desk was covered in a chaotic pile of stuff. _He must have been studying or working on something during dinner,_ she thought, viewing the mess. There were sheets of paper spread across his desk, along with odds and ends of metal: gears, levers, pieces of machinery, and several half-disassembled clocks. Curious, she went over and picked up each clock in turn, inspecting them and looking at their inner workings with interest. As she sat the last clock down, her eyes fell on one of the papers. It was a sketch. She pulled it over for closer inspection. The sketches were detailed drawings of machinery and gears added to human limbs, complete with labels. She stared at the sketch in morbid curiosity, trying to figure out how each of the gears and so on were supposed to work, tracing the path of motion with a finger. Satisfied that she had figured it out, she placed the sketch back on the desk and picked up another sheet of paper. This one was covered in plans for several different clocks, all with intricate inner workings.

"Do those interest you?"

Erica jumped and spun around. Kroenen was standing a few feet away. She had been so absorbed in the sketches that she hadn't even heard him come in.

"Yes," she answered, then indicated the sketches, "These are beautifully drawn. You could be an artist."

"Thank you," he said proudly, picking up other sketches and showing them to her, "I invented all of them myself."

"It'd be neat to know if they would actually work," she said, admiring his drawings.

"Oh, they do," he said, "I've actually built most of the clocks that I've drawn. It's a hobby of mine."

"Really? That sounds like fun!"

"You really think so?" he asked, genuinely surprised.

Erica nodded. "I've always liked to make things myself, I think it'd be fun to learn how to build a clock and actually get it to work."

"I'll teach you, if you'd like," said Kroenen, "But not tonight. It takes several hours, and you were up late last night."

_He sounds like my father, telling me I stayed up too late, _Erica thought. Kroenen gathered up the sketches scattered across his desk, revealing a chessboard underneath them. Then he carefully stacked the papers and put them away in his desk.

"I really do try to keep my study tidy," he said, in explanation, "But sometimes it just gets disorganized."

He saw her gazing at the chessboard. "Do you know how to play chess?" he asked, gesturing at the chessboard set up on his desk.

"Yes. I'm pretty good at it too." she said, "My friends and I used to play all the time."

"Would you care for a game?"

"Sure." she said, sitting down in the chair across from him.

He moved the disassembled clocks aside and took a seat. The pieces on his side were black, the ones on hers were white.

"You may make the first move," he said, leaning forward.

She smiled and moved one of her pawns. He did the same. And so it went, each of them mentally formulating their own plans and trying to lure each other into traps. For a while the only sound was that of the logs crackling in the fireplace. She watched as he moved a bishop, and her eyes fell on his gloved hand. It reminded her of when she had sealed her agreement with them, and that his hand had been so pale and covered in scars.

"Why did you bleed?" she asked, abruptly breaking the silence, "You didn't when that man shot you in the heart."

"I take it that you're referring to what happened when I cut my hand with that knife."

"Yes."

"What you have to understand is that, to begin with, I don't have a heart," he said, "So naturally, when your assassinator shot me I didn't die. And since I don't have a heart, there was very little there to bleed. Any bleeding was mostly internal and I took care of that later."

"But you have to have a heart!" Erica said, surprised by his unexpected answer, "Otherwise you'd be dead! There'd be nothing to pump your blood!"

"No, you don't _have_ to have a heart. There are other ways of pumping blood. With me, it's a combination of clockwork and machinery."

"But that can't be true. To replace a person's heart with clockwork—the procedure would kill them!"

"But it _is_ true. Don't you remember? The first time I pulled you out of a vision, your head was right over where my heart should have been. Couldn't you hear my clockwork ticking?"

He was right. She _had_ heard his clockwork ticking in his chest, and not just then, but on numerous other occasions. So he was telling the truth. She instantly felt a wave of sympathy for him.

"Who did it to you?" she asked, "It must have been terrible. I can't imagine someone doing that to another person."

"I did it to myself," he stated. Seeing her shock, he elaborated. "The human heart can only take so much wear and tear. And besides, organs are so fallible. Not so with clockwork. If an organ stops working, you'll die. But with clockwork, in the very unlikely case that something goes wrong, it's easy enough to fix. "

Erica was sharply reminded of the broken clocks and detailed sketches that had been spread out on his desk. She wasn't sure if she believed that he had done it to himself. _But I suppose it is possible, since he's graduated from medical school and seems to have a vast knowledge of how clocks and other machinery work_. She shuddered. She still couldn't imagine him doing that to himself. She decided that for the present, she wasn't going to believe what he had said about him replacing his own heart.

Little did she know, within an hour's time she would have all the evidence before her that he was more than capable of inflicting that sort of thing on himself.

She realized it was her turn to move a chess piece, so she moved her knight. And the game continued. After fifteen minutes, she had lost all of her pawns and only managed to take a few of Kroenen's pieces. But Kroenen wasn't really paying attention. If he had, he wouldn't have lost any of his pieces. Instead of putting his full concentration in the game, he was absorbed in his thoughts.

He thought back to when he had first been given the task of finding her, and how irritated he had been. Now he was actually happy that she was here. She was an interesting person, and he liked having someone to teach, to have someone look up to him. She was becoming more like a daughter to him everyday. He knew he would enjoy teaching her. In a few years, with the right training, she would inspire as much fear as he did. With her ability to see the future, if she was trained to defend herself as he had been trained, she would become very powerful and a huge asset to the Thule Society. He smiled at the thought, if all that came to pass, she would certainly be a lovely contradiction indeed, she would be both beautiful and dangerous. Then he frowned. One of the reasons he was so adept at fighting was due to his own modifications to himself, and he had a feeling Erica would protest about him doing the same to her. _And even if she agreed, she might not be as resilient as I am, I could kill her by accident,_ he thought. He sighed. He wanted to make her perfect, but he knew how hard perfection was to obtain, how elusive a quarry it was. And he personally knew how disastrous seeking perfection could be— but he wasn't going to think about that.

His eyes fell on Erica's sutured hand as she moved a chess piece, reminding him of the masquerade ball and Leonard. Anger boiled up inside him, remembering how Ahren and had tried to kill Erica. _So Ahren thought he was the spider in control of his prey's fate. So he thought he could play games with Erica who he believed to be trapped in his web. Well, Ahren's going to find out that it's deadly to play his shadow games in a web that _I_ control. If Ahren and his wife are captured alive, I swear they'll be on the receiving end of the most terrible vengeance I can devise! _he thought viciously as he moved one of his pieces, capturing one of Erica's knights. He looked up at her, she was still wearing one of his black roses in her hair, it matched her red and black clothing perfectly. Despite giving her the roses, he still felt a little guilty that he had caused her pain. He found it interesting that despite the fact he had been hurting her, she had continued to trust him and allowed him to take the glass out of her hand. _I wonder just how far her trust extends,_ he thought. She had trusted them enough to not only join them, but to let Ilsa and himself essentially mess around in her head.

_But does she _truly_ trust _me he thought. _I trust her, trust her enough to let her in on a secret that only myself, Ilsa, and Rasputin know._ Well, that wasn't entirely true. A few other people had found out, but he had killed most of them. _I trust her enough to reveal my secret, to show her what my face really looks like._ He was instantly and painfully reminded of how others had reacted when they had seen his face. Some had screamed, some had stood frozen in horror, a few had even passed out. Every single person's expression had shown how hideous they thought he was, no matter how much some had tried to hide it. And what would he do if she screamed? What did he honestly expect her reaction to be? _It doesn't matter, _he decided, _It's inevitable that she'll see my face sooner or later. So I'm going to do it now, where I have control of the situation, instead of her finding out one day by accident._

Unaware of Kroenen's thoughts, Erica was gazing at the chessboard in bewilderment. Despite the fact that Kroenen hadn't been fully concentrated on playing chess, Erica discovered that she was losing. It was something that had never happened before. Since she had learned to play chess, she had _never_ lost a game, which used to exasperate her friends. She supposed the reason she was losing was because Kroenen had a very unusual strategy, one she had never seen before. She was going to have to make huge adjustments to her usual tactics if she wanted to win. She was contemplating the chess pieces intensely, planning her next move, when Kroenen broke the silence.

"I want you to see my face."

Her concentration broken, she looked up at him. "What did you say?" she said, not sure she had heard him correctly.

"I want you to see my face. Come here, please."

Slowly, unquestioningly, she obeyed and got up and walked around the desk. As she did so, Kroenen stood up and turned to face her, gesturing for her to come closer. She tentatively approached him until she was standing directly in front of him. Kroenen took off his peaked military hat and placed it on the desk.

"It's more difficult for me to take my mask off myself. If you'd assist me…" he trailed off.

Hesitantly, she reached up towards his mask. Kroenen grasped her wrist, being careful of her sutures, and guided her hand to the two leather straps and buckles that held his mask on. Slowly, she unbuckled the first one. This was a bit awkward because she could barely use her right hand, and the cuts on her left palm and wrist still hurt. He was very patient and held still, other than to turn his head so she could reach the buckle more easily.

As Erica fumbled with the tiny buckle, thoughts were racing through her head. _Why? Why does he want me to see his face?_ That was the most dominant thought. But there were others too. _Why does he wear a mask? What does he have to hide? Does he wear a mask just to scare other people, or is it for another reason? Is he deformed? Or maybe horribly scarred as a result of an accident?_ There was only one way to find out.

Filled with apprehension, her trembling fingers undid the second and last buckle. She started to drop her hands back to her sides, expecting him to take his mask off. Instead, he caught her wrist and placed her fingers on one side of his mask. Gently, he held her hand there as he spoke.

"You'll have to help me. And when you see my face, no matter how you react, I won't be offended."

She nodded and he let go. Then she took his mask in her hands, one on either side, and pulled his mask away.

For a second she was frozen, speechless with horror, faced with his lidlessly staring ice blue eyes— and then she screamed.

Author's Notes: Whew! How's that for a suspenseful ending? Remember, the next chapter is after she's been living with them for at least a year, I still have to decide on the exact amount of time. Suggestions are welcome, and please review!


	9. The Traitor, the Murderer, and the Chall...

Chapter Nine: The Traitor, the Murderer, and the Challenger

Disclaimer: Hellboy characters do not belong to me. However, Erica is mine. Also, Yohann Vasser and Hayner belong to me.

Author's Notes: Thanks so much for the reviews DarkCloudRider, Psycho Llama, Nightcaster, Blu Embyr, and Thrior! Guess what? My birthday was on Saturday, May 21, so I'm 16 now! I'm really sorry about this being so late, I had to start from scratch for this chapter, as I only had a few ideas for it. Plus, the start of exams hasn't exactly helped out either. But to make up for taking so long, I made this chapter nice and long. In fact, it was so long, I had to spilt it into two chapters, this one and chapter ten! And just so you know, I am still open to ideas and suggestions. Okay…this chapter begins after a year has passed. And by the way, I figured that after a year she would probably start picking up some German, so I included some in this chapter and chapter ten. "Nein" is German for no, "Ja" is yes, and everything else is self explanatory. Everyone review, pretty pwease!

Blue Embyr: Thanks, it was really difficult to get all her visions to blend into one!

Nightcaster: If the unexpected is expected, is it still the unexpected? Seriously, I tried to surprise people by having Kroenen decide to show Erica his face. By the way, more relationship development in this chapter!

Psycho Llama: Mwhahahaha! You won't find out for a while what the hourglass means, but it does show up again in this chapter.

Gestalt: Another person that I'm killing with suspense! Just don't die, and I am terribly sorry about leaving everyone with a cliffhanger for almost a month.

Caitlin: I should become an author? Thanks!

DarkCloudRider: I wouldn't say he's cute without his mask on, more like…interesting. And the shadow man makes another, if brief, appearance in this chapter.

Hearing a woman's piercing scream reminded Erica of the night she had first seen Kroenen's face. That night was imprinted on her memory, she could still remember how horrified she had been when she had first been faced with Kroenen's lidless, eternally staring blue eyes. That was just over a year ago, she was 17 now, as she had nearly been sixteen then. Eventually she had seen his entire ruined face, his lidless blue eyes, his scarred skin, and his lipless mouth. She had felt so sorry for him, and had still felt that way when she found out how it had happened. Now she was almost used to seeing his face, although he wore his mask nearly all the time and avoided showing his face unless it was absolutely necessary. But those memories could wait. Erica turned her attention back to more pressing matters— the traitor sitting beside her.

She was at a dinner party, seated in the place of honor at the host's right hand. Wisely, she had only pretended to eat the food set in front of her. And she was very glad that she hadn't eaten anything, now that the woman who had been screaming in pain had slumped to the floor. Erica knew the woman was dead, poisoned. Erica had seen enough death in the past year to be able to tell at a glance if a person was alive or dead, and if dead, what they had died from. The other guests at the table, mostly Nazi officials and their wives, merely glanced at the dead woman and returned to eating, apparently unconcerned. This sort of thing happened so often that the majority of the guests were used to it. Beside her, the man— the traitor— sitting at the head of the table smiled amiably and casually drank from his crystal wine glass.

"You haven't eaten very much," he observed, still smiling.

"Yohann Vasser," she said, "considering what just happened, I would think that to be a very wise decision on my part."

"You don't trust me?" he said, mockingly feigning that her words had hurt him.

"How many people do you know of that I trust?"

"Only three," he said, "Karl Kroenen, Ilsa Haupstien, and Grigory Rasputin."

"Well, there you have your answer." she said.

_Traitor_, she thought, looking at Vasser. She had only recently discovered his treachery, between her visions and information gathered by Kroenen's network of spies. So it came down to this: Erica, Kroenen, Ilsa, and Grigory were the only ones that knew Vasser was a traitor. What Vasser didn't know was that they knew. His crime was that he had been selling classified information about the Nazis and the Occult to foreign countries. And on top of that, Kroenen had discovered that Vasser was responsible for the most recent batch of assassins that had tried to murder Erica. Obviously, the assassins had failed —and died— miserably, mostly due to her combat training and the fact that she had _not_ been in a good mood when they had shown up. Kroenen had wanted to kill Vasser the moment he found out that Vasser was responsible for sending the assassins, but after Erica and Ilsa had calmed him down they had decided that tonight was the night they would do something about it. That's why Erica had come to the dinner party, to bring Vasser's treachery out into the open— and then to punish him for it.

"There you have your answer?" Vasser said, repeating what she had said. Then he laughed, "Clever girl."

"You have no idea," she said.

Vasser smiled cheerfully and raised his wineglass to her. Her eyes fell on the wineglass in his hand, reminding her of her own incident with a wineglass. She looked down at her right hand, she still had the scars from the broken glass shards on her palm. The scars crisscrossed her palm in a network of pale, thin white lines. A year ago, whenever she went to shake someone's hand, they would stare at the scars on her hand and ask her how she got them. Now, few people dared to question her, and most simply took in her scars as part of her appearance.

That was another thing about her that had changed. She was still tall, her hair still long and brown, and her eyes were still storm grey, though people sometimes whispered that there was no reflection in the bottomless pits of her eyes. That was all the same, but there were several things about her that were different. She was more slender and lithe than she had been a year ago, due to the intense combat training that she had received from Kroenen. She was also _a lot_ stronger, she _had_ to be, considering that normally her opponents were male.

Another thing that had changed was her clothes, but they had only changed as a result of _another_ change that taken place. And that change was that, at Ilsa and Kroenen's urging, Erica had joined the Nazis. She had done this so that she could help Ilsa and Kroenen keep an eye on both sides working on the Ragnarok Project: the Thule Occult Society and the Nazis. Because Erica had joined the Nazis, most of the time she wore a uniform similar to Ilsa's and Kroenen's. This consisted of black pants, black knee high boots, and a black leather jacket over a shirt. Over this she wore either a long black cape or trench coat, whichever she thought fitted the occasion. Tonight she wore her uniform along with her long black cape and a sword buckled at her side. She never went anywhere without at least one weapon of some sort, that way she was always prepared for whatever situation arose. Usually she carried a knife or sword, as they were her favorite weapons, but most of the time Kroenen insisted that she take a small handgun with her, as not all of her opponents were interested in hand to hand combat. She also had her hair tied back in a black silk ribbon that Kroenen had given to her.

It was due to her choice of clothes she stood out sharply among the other dinner guests who were dressed up for the occasion, the women in long formal dresses, the men in coat and tails. She also stood out for another reason: she was the only one present at the dinner party that wasn't Arian. No one had pointed this out. Even though she was only 17, her fearsome reputation had grown like wildfire until she was nearly as infamous as Kroenen. And, as being one of the top members of the Thule Society, she also had a lot of power. That was why she was seated in the place of honor at Vasser's right hand, she was the most powerful and highest ranking person present at the dinner party.

Erica looked down towards the end of the long table, and recognized a young man named Hayner. Erica knew Hayner didn't like her very much, in fact, from the day the two of them had first met, she had known there was going to be trouble. It had turned out that Hayner was a close friend of Ahren Gilbert's family, and that Hayner had heard that Erica was the reason that Leonard had been poisoned and that Ahren and his wife had met an indescribably horrific fate at Kroenen's hands. She knew Hayner wanted revenge, just as Kroenen had wanted revenge on Ahren and his wife, she just wasn't concerned about anything Hayner was likely to try to do to her. And she was expecting Hayner to cause trouble tonight when she 'punished' Vasser for his treachery, because she knew that Hayner was one of Vasser's friends.

"I see your 'friend' Hayner has recognized you." Vasser said, watching Hayner casting dark glances down the table in Erica's direction.

"When doesn't he?" she said, "It's not as if he's likely to forget me very quickly, although a knife in the back would certainly help him along the way."

"I hope you're joking," warned Vasser, "Hayner's family has a very high social ranking, you'd be a fool to make enemies of them."

"A fool? Perhaps it is you who is the fool." she said, and smiled darkly, something that nowadays had the tendency to unnerve people.

Vasser's smile faded and he averted his eyes from hers. _She has very odd eyes_, he thought.

CRASH!

Everyone jumped, startled. One of the servants who were helping to serve dinner had overturned a cart he had been using to clear away the dirty dishes. The servant turned pale and muttered some hasty apologies, but Vasser wasn't listening. He yelled something in German at the servant, reprimanding him for his clumsiness.

And while Vasser was berating the servant, and everyone else at the table was watching the very humiliated servant, Erica stealthily reached over and picked up the spoon from Vasser's place setting. She slid the spoon up her sleeve to hide it and then, with a handkerchief over her hand, she took an identical spoon out of a pocket of her jacket and placed it beside Vasser's plate. This spoon was identical except for one thing— smeared invisibly across its surface was a traitor's payback— poison. It was a very special poison, one of many that Kroenen and Ilsa kept on hand. The poison was very strong, it took very little of it to kill a person, and it could be ingested or absorbed by a person's skin. And it was because the poison could be absorbed by the skin that she had been careful not to touch the spoon.

Once he was satisfied that the servant had learned his lesson, Vasser turned his attention back to his dinner. He picked up the spoon beside his plate and started on his soup, unaware that Erica was watching him eat with a slight smile on her lips. Suddenly, he put down his spoon and stood up.

"If you would come with me for a moment…" he said.

"Of course." she said.

She stood up and followed him away from the table and over to a row of huge windows along one wall.

"So, are the rumors true?" Vasser asked casually, glancing out the windows at the night covered countryside.

"For me to tell you that, you would have to refer to which ones." she replied.

"The ones about the latest group of assassins you killed," Vasser said, "Is it true you actually snuck up behind one and killed him, and then stole his jacket and hat and pretended to be him?"

"Of course it is," she said, "And when I rejoined the other three assassins they never suspected a thing, they thought I was one of them. So when they turned their backs…" she trailed off and grinned cruelly.

"You lying, deceiving, traitor!" Vasser said, laughing. But she could tell it was very forced laughter, undoubtedly he wasn't at all pleased about the fate of his assassins.

"Traitor?" Erica said, her voice suddenly very cold, "Oh no, it's not I that is the traitor, Vasser. You know full well that the only traitor here, is you."

At her words, the mood in the dining hall was altered immediately. Suddenly, everything was silent and all eyes turned on Vasser and Erica, as an accusation of treason was a very serious matter. A startled and concerned look crossed Vasser's face, a look that he quickly hid. But it was enough, she had seen it. And she could tell by the look in Vasser's eyes that he had just realized that she knew the truth, that he was a traitor. He faced her, standing stiffly in place, ignoring the eyes of the other guests.

"So, you knew all along," he said, with the air of a condemned man determined not to lose his dignity, "I should have known."

"Yes, you should have. How could you think that I wouldn't find out you were selling classified information to our enemies? Or that you were the one who sent those assassins?"

The dinner guests at the table immediately broke into an uproar at this information. Vasser ignored them, keeping a wary eye on the sword at Erica's side.

"And what are you going to do about it?" he asked quietly.

"Oh, I've already done something about it," she said, and smiled wickedly as she crossed her arms and stood in an attitude of waiting, "In fact, you should be feeling the results right about now."

"Wha—?" he began.

A pained look suddenly crossed Vasser's face as his skin turned deathly pale. He clutched at his heart as a faint moan passed his lips.

"Oh, my dear Yohann Vasser, I do hope you're not feeling unwell." she said mockingly.

He stared at Erica as he gasped for breath, swaying slightly where he stood. A look of agony distorted his face as his blue eyes rolled back in his head. A second later Vasser collapsed, he was dead before he hit the floor. The guests stood up in shock, voicing their astonishment and outrage.

"Murderer!" yelled Hayner. He jumped to his feet.

"Guilty as charged," Erica said, taking a sweeping bow, "But that should hardly come as a surprise to you fine ladies and gentlemen. Now, if you'll excuse me, I must be leaving, Kroenen requested that I return before midnight."

She turned to leave, her black cape swirling around her, and started up the wide marble stairs that led from the dining hall to the front door.

"Come back here, murderer!" Hayner yelled after her, "Fight me! Or are you a coward, a dog? Yes, that's all you are, Kroenen's _favorite_, _beloved_ little _pet_!"

She stopped midway up the stairs.

"I would advise you not to provoke me, Hayner," she said quietly, not turning to face him, "You see, that can have very _dangerous_, very _deadly_ results."

"Kroenen's little pet! Why so anxious to return home? Are you expecting some treat, some reward from your master, you dog? You're not even Arian, you half blood, impure _arschloch_!"

Still standing on the stairs, she slowly turned to face him.

"_No one_ talks to me like that." she hissed angrily.

"Really? I just did. Now get down here and fight you dog!" with those words, he pulled out a sword, and stood waiting for her.

She was slightly surprised that he hadn't pulled out a gun, but then, she had known that a confrontation between the two of them was inevitable. Perhaps Hayner had known the same and had chosen a sword so that he would look better if he won. After all, she was rumored to be a master of any blade or knife. _Fool_, she thought, _if you had chosen a gun you might have had a chance, now you have none at all_.

Infuriated, she glared icily at him and stalked down the stairs, her black cape trailing down the stairs behind her. Her hand rested on the hilt of the sword that hung in its sheath at her side. The pommel of the sword was a large, silver skull that glinted eerily in the light. The other guests quickly backed away from Hayner who had a mad, almost eager look in his eyes.

"If you are truly that eager to die," Erica hissed, "I will certainly not hesitate to oblige your wish."

With those words, she whipped out her sword, and without pausing, attacked him.

Hayner parried her fierce onslaught and thrust out at her. But she was gone! He looked around in confusion. She suddenly leapt out from behind one of the marble pillars that stood along the walls, her blade sweeping towards his throat. Hayner yelled in surprise, and tried to jerk out of the way. He wasn't fast enough. Her sword swept by, leaving a thin cut across Hayner's cheek. Immediately, she was on the attack again, and Hayner found himself forced to defend himself. The metallic clash of blades echoed in the dining hall as Erica and Hayner played out their deadly dance. The other dinner guests stood out of the way against the wall, watching silently.

Hayner's strength and weight helped him, but Erica was quicker on her feet and her training was far better. Hayner realized too late that that she had the advantage, he was forced to use all his strength and weight to protect himself. As they neared the dinner table, Hayner reached out and picked up a heavy platter from the table. He flung it at her head, but she ducked and it went sailing harmlessly past her and shattered on the floor. Erica jumped up onto a chair and then leapt onto the table, parrying his sword thrusts. He swung at her feet and missed completely, and his sword sank into the wood of the table. He tried to wrench it free, but it was stuck!

Seeing Hayner's predicament, Erica trapped his sword against the table with her boot and kicked him in the chest as hard as she could. His sword still stuck firmly in the table, Hayner stumbled backwards, thrown off balance. Seizing the opportunity, she jumped to the floor and grabbed the edge of her black cape and threw it over his head. Blinded and weaponless, Hayner gave a muffled yell as he tried to free himself from her cape, but he only became more entangled in it. Erica yanked sharply on the fabric of her cape, throwing him roughly to the floor before she pulled on her cape, freeing it from around his head. Hayner found himself lying on the floor on his back, and pulled out a dagger that he had hidden in his jacket. But before he could do anything, her sword was at his heart, the needle-sharp point of the glinting blade just barely pricking his skin through his shirt. Lying on the floor, he glared up at her, his gaze meeting her furious, stormy grey eyes as she looked down at him. Seeing he was holding a dagger, she kicked it out of his hand and it slid across the marble floor, far out of his reach.

"Now," she said, slightly out of breath, "We can go about this one of two ways. One, I kill you. Or two, you apologize to me and beg for my forgiveness, and _then_ I kill you."

"_Geh' zur Hölle!_" he said defiantly, his eyes glittering with hate. He spit at her feet.

"Go to Hell? Oh, I don't think I will. But I have no problem with sending _you_ there."

With that, she ran him through.

She wiped her bloodied sword on Hayner's shirt, leaving dark crimson stains on the white fabric. Still holding her sword, she turned to address the other guests, who were all very shaken and staring at the pool of dark blood on the marble floor around Hayner's dead body. A few of the ladies had fainted. Erica ignored them and spoke.

"Now, if you will excuse me, ladies and gentlemen, I will be leaving. Farewell."

She sheathed her sword and swept up the stairs and out into the night. Her black horse was waiting for her in the courtyard in front of the mansion, his black fur making him almost invisible in the darkness. She swung herself up onto her horse's back, and with a flick of the reins they thundered away, the wind blowing through her hair and whipping her cape behind her. To anyone they passed, they appeared as a ghost like shadow racing under the moonlight…

XXXXX

By dawn Erica was back at the mansion. She had meant to get back earlier, but the night had been so beautiful, and she had felt so triumphant, that she had decided to ride through the countryside. That had been several hours ago. What had started out as a breakneck gallop soon slowed to a leisurely trot as the horizon brightened and she finally turned her horse homeward. She left her horse at the stables and casually entered the mansion, trying to be as quiet as possible. With any luck, no one would be awake yet and notice her late, belated, _and_ way overdue arrival. Once in the entrance hall, she headed in the general direction of her study, when a female voice near the staircase interrupted her.

"You're late." the voice said simply.

"I know." Erica said, slowly turning to face Ilsa.

Ilsa stood at the foot of the staircase, gazing at Erica with her ice blue eyes.

"I suppose you were out taking another night ride across the countryside?" Ilsa said, crossing her arms.

"Yes."

Ilsa sighed. "You have to be more careful. With your black horse and the way you dress, the locals think there's some sort of ghost haunting the area."

"With everything that goes on around here, there most likely is." Erica said.

"That's not what I meant, and you know it. Really, I don't know why I bother scolding you. The only one you listen to anymore is Kroenen."

"That's not true. I listen to Grigory. And I listen to you— most of the time."

"That's not really important right now. I came down here to ask you something else," Ilsa said, "How was the dinner party?"

"It was…interesting."

"And Yohann Vasser?"

"Dead. Along with Hayner."

"You killed Hayner?" asked Ilsa, looking surprised. But really, she wasn't all that surprised. Ilsa had known that a confrontation was inevitable between Erica and Hayner. Hayner had hated and despised Erica not just because of her role in Leonard's and his parent's deaths, but because she was a 17 year old girl who had a higher rank and more power than Hayner could ever dream of possessing.

"Yes, I did." said Erica.

"Why?"

"He was being an insolent insulting pig. And he _wanted_ to fight me. He actually seemed to think that he had a chance of killing me. Although why he'd want to avenge the death of a traitor like Vasser I certainly can't imagine."

"He wasn't just avenging Vasser. You know he's wanted revenge on you ever since he found out about what happened to Leonard and his parents," said Ilsa, "Did you kill anyone else?"

"Some woman was poisoned, but that wasn't my doing. And I don't personally care that she's dead, she was insignificant to begin with. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'll be in my study."

Erica turned and walked away. Ilsa called after her. "Be expecting a visit from Kroenen, he wanted to talk to you about something."

_Terrific_, Erica thought sarcastically, _that means he's awake _and_ knows that I'm late._

After traveling down some corridors, she came to the door of her study and went inside. Ilsa and Kroenen had given this study to her on her sixteenth birthday. Since then, she had altered the room to fit her needs. She stood in the doorway for a moment, gazing at the slight disorder inside. Things had a tendency to migrate there and stay, so she constantly had to neaten up.

Across from the door was a huge window draped with blood red curtains, and the dark wood floor under her feet was clean and polished. On her right was her desk, and on her left, centered in the wall, was a fireplace big enough for her to stand in. Part of her sword collection hung on the wall over the fireplace, glinting menacingly. And except for where the fireplace and window were, all the walls were filled with bookshelves from floor to ceiling, much like Kroenen's study. Some of the bookshelves were full of history records and books full of prophecies, others were piled with texts as dangerous as the ones in Kroenen's study. She rarely disturbed these dangerous texts, because she was just starting to learn how to control them, but she had learned how to handle the less dangerous books. Some of the other shelves had tidy displays of various objects such as knives, crystals, scrying mirrors, and the tools she used to build clocks.

Scattered around the room, on her desk, the mantel, and some of the bookshelves were all sorts of paraphernalia that could possibly be imagined as having to do with time, the future, and her visions. These objects included an Aztec calendar, multiple star charts dating back to Roman times, sun dials, Egyptian water clocks, and hourglasses of all different sizes and shapes.

Some of the hourglasses were very ornate, while others were very plain. The reason she collected these hourglasses was because of her dream. It was almost always the same: the Shadow Man and the dead garden, the hideous gargoyle in the fountain, and The Hourglass. She still didn't understand why The Hourglass was so important to her. She had even shown her dream to Kroenen and Ilsa, thinking it might be a vision, but they had both told her that it was a dream and nothing more. But she still couldn't forget The Hourglass, whenever she dreamed it was always there. And each time she saw it, the bottom half of The Hourglass held a little more black sand and the top had less and less white sand. When she asked the Shadow Man why The Hourglass was important, He would never give her a straight answer. Sometimes He would laugh at her, His laughter both burning and chilling at the same time. Because of this reoccurring dream she was driven to try to find an hourglass like the one in her dream, hoping that finding one would tell her why it was so important. So far she had not succeeded.

But thanks to a certain someone with a love of all things mechanical and filled with clockwork, she _did_ have several clocks in her study. Kroenen had made several of them, and she had made a few herself. There was a tall, foreboding grandfather clock standing beside the enormous fireplace, and in the center of the mantle was another clock, the dark wood of its case carved intricately. On her desk was a small pocket watch, and as time passed, the face of the clock rotated to show day or night. On the windowsill was a clock housed in glass, and when the sun shone in you could see all the intricate inner workings of the clock turning. Kroenen had given this clock to her on her seventeenth birthday, and it was her favorite. Its soft, gentle, omnipresent ticking was very steady and calming.

She closed the door and walked over to her desk. She flopped down in her chair and gazed contentedly at the haphazard jumble of things on her desk. Yellowing parchment scrolls were spread across its surface, their curling edges weighed down by fist sized quartz crystals, the seeing stone of seers. On one corner of her desk was a model of the planets that she had built, its planets rotated steadily around the sun in the model's center. She leaned back in her chair and looked up at the ceiling, which had an enormous map of the constellations tacked to it.

After some brief consideration, she decided she would tidy her study later, she doubted she would be receiving any more 'assignments' as Kroenen called them for a while. She pulled over a large leather bound volume. This book was where she recorded her visions, for the sake of easy reference for others, and she hadn't quite finished recording the last one before she had rushed off on her latest assignment. She reached out to pick up her pen, when she noticed the small bundle of black roses lying on her desk, a crimson ribbon tied around their stems. She could tell by the cut end of the stalk that they had been cut as recently as a few hours ago, probably around midnight or so. _So Kroenen left these for me, _she thought, _that means he's been waiting for me to come back all night. _She shook her head, knowing Kroenen was going to reprimand her for being so late. Then she picked up her calligraphy pen, dipped it in ink as red as blood, and started writing on a fresh page of the book.

She had only been writing for a few moments, occasionally concentrating to bring up specifics of the vision, when there was a soft knock on the door of her study. She looked up just as Kroenen entered, carrying several books. Erica quickly cleared a space on her desk and he set the books down. He sat down in the chair across from her.

"Did you have fun 'hunting'?" he asked, "I hope you found someone— ah— challenging for you."

"Poisoning Vasser wasn't exactly challenging," she said, "But I quite enjoyed the sword fight with Hayner. But even that wasn't very difficult, he would have had a better chance if he had decided to use a handgun."

"Speaking of which, I noticed you neglected to take yours with you, _like I told you to_," he said, "And you were very late coming back. I requested that you be back _before_ midnight."

"I tried, I really did! I just couldn't— it was night and the moon was out, and everything was silent and dark, and the wind was blowing— something was pulling me, I just had to ride, to be out in the night…" she trailed off, unsure how to explain the feeling she had felt tugging at her.

"I was worried about you." Kroenen said quietly.

"I know." she said, looking down.

Kroenen looked at Erica. She had become an indispensable part of their team, she, Ilsa, and himself worked well together, though he and Erica worked together the best. Kroenen was proud of Erica, she had come so far in such a short time. It was true, he had taught her well, but he wasn't finished yet. There were still things she had to learn, such as to do what he told her. _She's still young, she can't help it,_ he thought. He knew she really was sorry, she hadn't meant to make him worried. And he had been worried, knowing she was going alone to the home of a person that had sent assassins to murder her. He had been even more worried when he had discovered she had left her handgun behind and only taken her sword, and he had stayed up all night anxiously waiting for her to return.

Kroenen reached out across the desk and gently tilted her face upwards so she was looking at him. _She has beautiful eyes, _he thought, looking at their strange silver-gray color, _They're beautiful because they're unusual._

"Just remember to be more cautious. I don't want to lose you," he said, "It's not that I think you're incapable of handling an opponent, I'm just concerned that you might underestimate them by accident."

"I'm sorry, I'll be more careful next time."

"Good, because the real reason I came to talk to you was because you have another assignment."

"What? Another? I just got back!" she said, surprised.

"Idle hands are the devil's playthings." he said philosophically.

"The only question is, is it my hands or yours that we're talking about?" she asked, looking up at him with mischief written all over her face.

Behind his mask he smiled liplessly, he loved it when she made that expression.

"Both," he answered, "You know you have a tendency to get into… mischief when you don't have anything to do. And while I personally don't mind how many peasants or soldiers you 'toy with', Ilsa is getting tired of it."

She grinned sheepishly. "So, where am I being sent off to now?" she asked.

"Russia. And you're not going alone, I'm coming with you, along with a select band of soldiers I've chosen for the expedition."

"Select band of soldiers meaning what, exactly?"

"Highly trained, good at following orders, and expendable." he answered, grinningly wickedly behind his mask. Erica's smile matched his.

"If you're coming, is Ilsa coming as well?" she asked.

"Nein. She doesn't…" he made a gesture at the books he had brought with him, trying to explain, "…she doesn't fit the requirements."

"Requirements?"

"Ja. I've been doing some research the past few nights on the subject. The place where we're going is a network of caverns and tunnels, some of them underwater. And for a person to enter the water they must be female, or they will, ah, die most unpleasantly."

"And Ilsa can't come because…?"

"Because the female has to be a virgin," he said, "And Ilsa does _not_ fit that requirement."

"Oh." she said, then after a brief moment of silence, "What exactly are we looking for?"

As an answer, Kroenen opened one of the books and flipped through it. When he found the page he was looking for, he turned the book so it faced her and pointed to a picture and the section of text written beside it.

"A giant crystal?" she said.

He nodded. "It produces enormous amounts of energy. We need it to help power the portal generator for Project Ragnarok, our current sources of energy are not enough to power the machine."

"How do you know? You've barely finished the blueprints for it."

"Grigory told me we would need it."

"And how soon are we leaving?"

"As soon as you're packed. I made a list of the things you need to bring with you." he said, handing her the list. Then he gestured to the pile of books he had brought with him, "You need to read up on the subject, so I brought you a little 'light' reading."

"Is that what you call it? I can't possibly pack _and_ read all of these if you're planning to leave soon."

"Don't worry. I bookmarked the important pages for you."

Erica sighed. "At this rate I'm not going to get _any_ sleep."

"You should have come back at midnight as I requested. Remember, Erica, I have a reason for everything I do, you just may not be aware of the reason. And don't worry, you can sleep during the plane ride to Russia, you're going to have to be well rested for the task ahead of you."

"Ahead of me? What about you?"

"The crystal is in one of the underwater caverns, in the heart of an abandoned ancient city. I can't go in the water because I'm not female, remember? And there aren't any maps to guide your way, you'll have to test all your options with your visions by looking at the possibilities that lie ahead."

"So why are you coming?" she asked curiously, "Moral support?"

"Nein. If you get hurt, I want to be the one to take care of you, not those fools they assign to the soldiers as doctors."

"Well, I wanted a challenge, and it sounds like I finally got one."

"You'll do fine," he assured her, "Start reading. I'll call you for breakfast when it's ready."

Author's Notes: So, is Erica scaring you yet? She's changed a lot in a year, no? Please review and tell me what you think!


	10. Ordeal by Fire and Water

Chapter Ten: Ordeal by Fire and Water

Disclaimer: Hellboy characters do not belong to me. However, Erica is mine.

Author's Notes: Thanks for reviewing Blu Embyr, Psycho Llama, DarkCloudRider, and Caitlin! I made this chapter nice and long. And the last day of school was today, so that means more writing and quicker updating! And if you have any ideas for my story, go ahead and send them to me. This chapter takes place two days after the last one, and Erica and Kroenen are now in Russia. We have some lovely action scenes in here too…"Nein" is German for no, "Ja" is yes. Everyone review, pretty pwease!

Oh, if anyone's interested in a challenge fic, my sister and I came up with something that might be comical and slightly perverse. Make that _definitely_ perverse. The challenge is this: Write a Hellboy fic based on the movie where Liz's and Ilsa's souls/minds switch bodies. Hehehehe. I can be so evil sometimes…e-mail me or something if you're interested…

Blu Embyr: Scaring the living snot out of the locals? That's a very…interesting expression...

Psycho Llama: Yes indeed, what _would_ they do without Erica? Perhaps I should explore that in later chapters… The mental image of Kroenen in drag was funny though! 

DarkCloudRider: Erica is like you? Yay! Someone is connecting with the character! And more coolness with swords (and possibly roses) is coming up in later chapters.

Caitlin: You bet I'm going to keep writing! I love this story!

_Two days later in Russia: _

The underground caverns were surprisingly warm. They were also full of surprises — so far they had lost three soldiers who hadn't been watching where they were walking. As a result, the three unfortunate soldiers had fallen through holes in the rock floor. None had reappeared again.

Erica and Kroenen led the way, using flashlights to light up the passages ahead. Kroenen was carrying a worn, leather bound book. Of the two of them, only he could read it, though Erica could identify a few of the words. She had been learning several languages over the past year, including German, but the book was written in a language she was just starting to learn. Kroenen had the book open and every so often they stopped and compared their position to the map on the page. So far they were right on track.

Abruptly, the tunnel they were following ended in a rock wall. Just in front of the wall was a wide circular shaft that plunged straight down into the earth. Kroenen signaled to a soldier, and the soldier came to the front carrying a large coil of rope. The soldier tied one end of the rope to a large rock sticking up out of the floor and then threw the rest of the rope over the edge of the shaft. Then he started climbing down.

When he reached the bottom he called up to them, his voice echoing off the rocks walls.

"All clear!" he yelled.

Kroenen put the book in a pocket of his trench coat and then swiftly climbed down the rope. Erica followed him, and once she was at the bottom, the soldiers slid down the rope one by one and dropped to the floor. Two soldiers that had stayed at the top of the shaft began lowering down the equipment they had brought with them.

Erica ignored them, she was shining her flashlight over the damp rock walls. The shaft had dropped them into a tunnel that was different then the others they had passed through. The walls, floor, and ceiling of this tunnel were carved with intricate pictographs and symbols, and ahead of them the tunnel branched off in two directions. The passage on the left had no carvings in it, unlike the passage on the right. Kroenen took the book out of his pocket and looked at the map. But the map ended at the exact place they were standing.

"Erica..." he said.

"Yes. Wait a minute." she said, already knowing what he was asking her.

Over the past year Kroenen and Ilsa had been teaching Erica to control her visions. Currently, she was at a point where she had almost total control over them. Almost was the key word. Every so often one would sneak up on its own, but she was practicing to prevent that from happening. One of the things her visions— at the least the ones she brought on herself— were good for was to find out specific things like dates and times or what might happen if she went to a certain place. This last one was the one Kroenen was asking her to investigate now.

She stared at the two tunnels and then closed her eyes, concentrating. Mentally, she imagined going down the left passage. _What will happen if I go that way? _she asked herself. In reply, an image appeared in her head. It was as if she were running at an impossible speed down the tunnel, the rocks walls raced by her in a blur— a dead end appeared. The running stopped just before she hit the wall. She looked around. Nothing. Just a dead end. A small pebble dropped down from the ceiling and bounced on the floor. She switched her view so she could look up. Above her was a shaft that ran so far up that it disappeared into darkness. And clinging to the side of the shaft was a huge, black, eight legged— the creature leapt off the wall and hurtled down towards her! She screamed— and froze the image. The gigantic spider hung in midair four feet above her head, its ten-foot-long legs splayed out for its landing. Its eight, acid green eyes glittered eerily as she looked up at them, and its long fangs shone in the dim light, their surface coated with poison. She shuddered as she looked into that black, terrible spider's face and threw her vision into reverse. She was racing backwards away from there, the cave walls rushing by—

Her eyes flew open.

"Well?" asked Kroenen.

"Definitely _not_ that way." she said, pointing to the left passage.

"And the other?"

She pictured it in her mind. The walls rushed by. They had something carved into their sides — at the end was an opening into a cavern— she opened her eyes.

"This way." she said, gesturing to the passage on the right.

Kroenen nodded and led the way. They followed the winding tunnel until it suddenly came to an end and they entered an enormous cavern. The beams of the soldier's flashlights pierced the darkness and revealed stalagmites and stalactites, some of which formed thick columns where they had connected. Other rock formations spiraled up from the floor or formed thin sheets of rock that hung from the ceiling in waves that were reminiscent of curtains. The ceiling itself soared up and nearly out of sight, making them feel tiny and insignificant in comparison to the vast size of the cavern.

But the thing that was the most extraordinary was that the entire cavern was covered in intricate carvings. The walls, the floor, even some of the columns had figures sculpted into their sides. Erica's eyes were drawn by the spiraling, geometric designs to the point where the designs radiated from: the edge of an opening in the center of the cavern floor.

The circular opening in the floor was about ten feet across and was filled with water that was black and as still and reflective as a piece of polished obsidian. Curious, Erica walked over to the edge and shone her flashlight down into the water. The beam of light pierced the darkness of the water, turning it a translucent green. The water was very deep, the green color gradually darkened back to black at the edge of the beam of her flashlight, hiding the bottom from view. In fact, from the books Kroenen had given her to read, Erica had learned that the entire area below this cavern was hollow and full of water. In ages past it had been dry and a subterranean city had prospered there, powered by a crystal— the exact crystal that they had come to find. As to why the city was flooded, supposedly the occupants of the city had angered their gods. As retribution, the gods were said to have sent a terrible cataclysm that swamped the city with water and drowned all of its inhabitants. It was sort of like an underground version of Atlantis.

In the background Erica heard Kroenen ordering the soldiers to set up the equipment they had brought with them. Soon the walls of the cavern were glittering in the bright beams of spotlights that formed a bright island in the surrounding darkness. Kroenen directed the soldiers to turn the spotlights to face the pool of water in the center of the cavern. While they were doing this, he approached Erica. She was still over by the pool of water, inspecting the carvings around its edges.

"Have you discovered anything interesting?" he asked her.

"Not really. I can barely read these symbols, even with using my visions to try to look into their past. All I can get from them is a sense like they're warning us away from this place."

"As would anyone that wanted to keep people away from them," Kroenen said, "Did you check to see if the water is fresh or salt?"

"Ja. Fortunately it's fresh water, I won't need to wear goggles to swim underwater."

"Good. Start getting ready." he instructed.

Erica nodded and took off her black trench coat and jacket and handed them to Kroenen. Then she sat down and removed her knee-high black boots and socks. When she was finished, she stood there barefoot, wearing only long black pants and a black T-shirt that revealed the crescent scar on her arm. Kroenen handed her four blades that had black leather straps hanging off their sheaths. The two longest blades were copies of Kroenen's favorite blade— the baton sword. Erica strapped the two short ones to her upper arms and the two long ones to her legs and then pulled her hair back in a ponytail. While the soldiers finished positioning the spotlights, she sat near the edge of the opening in the floor, staring at the water and concentrating.

_Which way is the city?_ she asked. An underwater image appeared in her mind, showing her looking up at the surface. Ahead of her the surface was bright and behind her it was dark. Then the view rushed upwards through the water and into the bright space above where there was air. _How far from here to air?_ she wondered. Another image appeared in her head of a tape measure cut off at about twenty feet.

"Erica?"

She opened her eyes. Around her, the puddles of water on the floor shone in the spotlights. "What?" she asked, looking up.

Kroenen was standing next to her. "Can you hold your breath long enough to reach the air?" he asked.

"Ja. It's only fifteen to twenty feet before this floor— well, down there it'll be the ceiling— starts to tilt up and away from the surface of the water. Eventually it forms an enormous air pocket above the water where some of the buildings and ground are still on dry land."

"You should be able to swim that far underwater without difficulty. Just make sure you use your visions to keep you going in the right direction. And take this with you," he said, handing her a small leather pouch hanging from a cord, "Put the crystal in it to keep it safe."

Erica nodded and slipped the cord over her head so the bag was hanging around her neck. She pulled on a pair of black flippers to help her swim and then swung her legs over the edge and into the water. Just as she was about to slide into the water, she felt a gloved hand gently grasp her shoulder, holding her back. She turned and saw Kroenen kneeling beside her on the floor, his mask a few inches from her face. He tilted his head slightly, and the round, glass eyes of his mask glinted in the bright glare of the spotlights.

"Be careful." he said.

"I will." she said.

"Good luck." he said, and released her.

Erica carefully lowered herself into the water. To her surprise, the water wasn't cold at all, it was comfortably warm. She held onto the stone edge for a moment and concentrated so she knew which direction to swim in to reach the air pocket the fastest.

_Here I go, _she thought as she took a deep breath and submerged. She felt the water close over her head and she opened her eyes, pulling out and turning on a waterproof flashlight that she had stuck in her belt. Fortunately, with her flashlight the water was fairly clear, although it did have a green tint to it. Erica glanced upwards at the opening above her head, where the bright light of the spotlights was filtering down through the water, and then she started swimming in the direction of the air pocket.

She didn't have to swim very far. As soon as she had opened her eyes she had spotted the change in the color of the water that she had been looking for. Behind her the water was greenish black except for where the spotlights shone down through the opening and into the water. But ahead of her, the water was a brighter green, lit by a light source of some sort in the air pocket. She swam toward it, and as soon as she was in the bright green water, she surfaced for air and looked around. As her vision has shown her, the ceiling above her sloped steeply upwards and created a large, air filled cavern above the water. The strange greenish light was coming from phosphorescent algae that coated the rock ceiling. This algae provided enough light that, from where she was, she could see where the water met the little bit of shore remaining, roughly over one hundred and fifty feet from where she was in the water. On the shore was the only part of the ancient abandoned city that was above water, the buildings and towers soared upwards as if in an attempt to reach the ceiling of the cavern.

She eyed the distance and decided to swim underwater, it was the fastest and most efficient way for her to swim. _And I think I'll leave my flashlight on until I get to shore,_ she thought, as she took a deep breath and went underwater.

Erica swam in the direction of the edge of the lake, coming up every so often to breathe. As she swam she looked down towards the lake bottom where only thirty or so feet below her she could see the ruins of the submerged buildings. The buildings gradually came closer to her as the lake floor rose upwards at an incline and the water became steadily shallower. The towers of the tallest buildings were only fifteen feet below her when, out of the corner of her eye, she saw something move. She stopped and looked in the direction of the movement and spotted the enormous, shadowy silhouettes of several eel like creatures that were swimming nearby, just barely on the edge of the range of her flashlight. She watched them cautiously, she had read about the Sentinels of the ruined city that was home to the crystal, and knew that the giant eel-monsters were to be avoided at all costs.

Still keeping an eye on the sinuous shadows, she looked back at the submerged buildings below her. They were all around her now, and eventually she was swimming among the buildings and along the underwater roadways. The water was less then ten feet deep now.

Soon after that, she found that her feet could touch the bottom and she took off her flippers. She stuck her flashlight in her belt for safekeeping before she waded through the water and onto the shore carrying her flippers. The roadway she had been following rose right out of the water and continued on land, leading the way into the city. She stood on the roadway for a moment as she looked around at the city. The road she stood on met another at a crossroad ahead of her, and after that the cobblestone paved roads disappeared out of sight behind the buildings as they meandered through what remained of the city. The windows and doorways of the buildings were dark, and the entire city was eerily quiet. The only sound was the water of the lake lapping at the shore, the sound of her own breathing, and the gentle dripping of water off her clothes. She shivered, the silence was creepy, it was weird to be the only living thing in this city. Absentmindedly, she wrung the water out of her wet ponytail and then closed her eyes and concentrated on the city before her.

_Where is the crystal? _she asked. Images of the buildings rushed by— pausing briefly to look up at the tallest tower in the city— racing up a narrow staircase— a small, circular room at the top of the tower — a pedestal in its center— the crystal sitting in the center of the pedestal— she opened her eyes.

_The tallest tower in the city_, she thought, gazing upwards.

It was easy to find. It towered above all the other buildings, decorated by gold and intricate carvings like the ones she had seen in the cavern. It was also crowned with a pointed golden spire, making it stand out clearly, even in the strange greenish light from the phosphorescent algae.

She pulled open the large, heavy door of the tower. It was very dark inside, so she flicked on her flashlight and then went inside, leaving the door open to give her some light. In front of her was a narrow stone staircase, barely wide enough for one person to walk up it. She put her foot on the first step—

BAM!

The door of the tower slammed shut behind her. Erica whirled around, pulling out one of the long blades that were strapped to her legs. Nothing was there. The door had shut by itself. Cautiously, she turned back to the stairs and started walking up them, shining her flashlight in front of her to light the way. The stairs seemed to have no end, they spiraled endlessly up into the darkness ahead of her. _Enough of this, _she thought. Throwing caution to the wind, she started running up the stairs, taking them two and three at a time. Suddenly, the stairs ended. At the top was an open doorway leading into a white circular room ringed with long, skinny windows. In the center of the room was a cylindrical pedestal. And sitting on top of it was the crystal.

The crystal was a fist-sized lump of black stone swirled with blood red streaks and dotted with chunks of clear quartz. Erica sheathed her sword and slowly approached the pedestal and reached out for the crystal.

_This is too easy, _she thought.

Expecting for a trap to be sprung at any moment, she carefully picked up the crystal and cradled it in her hands. Surprisingly, the crystal was very lightweight. She placed the crystal in the leather pouch hanging around her neck, and then turned and started down the stairs. She reached the bottom of the stairs and headed for the door, genuinely surprised that nothing had happened or tried to stop her from taking the crystal. The heavy door wasn't even locked, so Erica pushed open the door and stepped out of the tower and onto the road.

The moment she did so it instantly became clear that it _had_ been too easy to take the crystal. And it also became evident she had been wrong when she assumed that she was the only living thing in the city.

In front of her was a blazing mound of fire about seven or eight feet high. The only thing more unexpected than the sudden and mysterious appearance of the fire was that the fire had _eyes_. Thirteen red-orange eyes of all different sizes were scattered all over the creature's fiery, shifting form. The eyes blazed angrily at her as the intense heat of the creature washed over her. She stood for a moment, too startled to decide what to do. The books she had read hadn't mentioned this creature. The fire-creature began to inch closer to her. As it came closer, the heat became unbearable and Erica noticed that the extreme heat from the creature was cracking the cobblestones beneath it. And still the fire-creature crept closer. That was when the heat from the fire began to scorch her skin. Erica yelped in pain and, on instinct, ran towards the edge of the lake. The fire-creature chased her, racing across the ground like wildfire on a dry grassland. The creature dashed in front of her, blocking her escape route into the water so quickly that she nearly ran into it. Vine-like tendrils of flame reached out to catch her. She swerved away from the licking tongues of flame and ran towards a bridge that was broken in the center and protruded out over the water. The creature pursued her, she could hear the cobblestones of the road cracking ominously behind her as it chased after her. She ran onto the bridge. The creature followed. She backed up as it slowly advanced towards her.

_I'm trapped!_ she realized as she looked over her shoulder to where the bridge ended ten feet away from her.

She looked back at the fire-monster. It leisurely advanced on her, its eyes narrowed as it crept towards its victim. Those eyes— she gazed at its thirteen, red-orange eyes as they melted into a soft golden color. She stared at its golden eyes, captivated and unable to tear her eyes away. _Those eyes are so beautiful,_ she thought. The fire-creature's eyes were ancient and deep, so deep she knew she could lose herself in those dark pupils, pupils that were as deep and pitch black as an abyss.

_Stay_, the creature said, its voice echoing in her mind.

It came within a few feet from her but she didn't move away, even when the stones of the bridge began to fracture from the heat. The creature frightened her, but at the same time, what she saw in its eyes made her want to be closer to it. _Stay, child of the flame_, the fire-creature murmured. _Stay here and become part of the fire that owns you._ The tendrils of flame snaked out around her and began to gently curl around her back and waist. Erica stared into the fire's eyes, totally mesmerized. She didn't mind the vines of fire wrapping around her, it didn't hurt. In fact, it was just pleasantly warm, like a sitting beside a log fire on a winter's night. Gradually, the warmth grew hotter and hotter until it was nearly excruciating. And still Erica stood, staring into the creature's spellbinding eyes. Then the heat _burned_. She shrieked in pain and jerked away from the fire-creature's grasp, steam rising from where her wet clothes and skin had been burned. Freed from its spell, she sprinted to the crumbling edge of the broken bridge. She stood on the edge for a moment, looking down at the water fifteen feet below her.

_Stay!_ the creature roared angrily, reaching out to her again, _Stay!_

_I hope the water is deep enough_, Erica thought.

And then she dove off the edge.

She fell, air rushing past her and the dark surface of the water racing to meet her. Just before she hit the water she took a deep breath and closed her eyes.

SPLASH!

She hit the water hard, her momentum carrying her downward several feet. She opened her eyes and began swimming again, heading for the way out. The water slightly soothed the burns on her back, but they still stung painfully. _That was close,_ she thought, relieved to have escaped. She surfaced to catch her breath and saw the fire-creature on the edge of the bridge, its thirteen hypnotic eyes staring after her. Unnerved, she slipped her flippers onto her feet and dove back down. As she swam, she noticed the same sinuous, swimming shapes that she had seen earlier. The shapes were nearby, swimming in the alleys and roads between the submerged buildings, but the creatures were far enough away from her that they were still shadows. Very, _very_ large shadows. She watched them warily, but kept swimming and eventually she swam far enough away that the creatures' shadows disappeared. _Good, _she thought, _I don't want to have to deal with the Sentinels. It's just as well that they never noticed me._ The flooded city was still around her, descending along with the slope of the lake floor. She swam through the window of a peaked tower and out the other side. She stopped in her tracks, an entire school of the huge eel-fish was _directly in front of her!_ The enormous Sentinels were moving like snakes, weaving in and out of the enormous school, so interwoven that she couldn't tell where one began and another ended. Realizing she should leave before they spotted her, she started to back up, when she got the cold, shivery feeling that something was behind her. She turned around.

What she saw made her blood run cold. One of the gigantic fish was less than ten feet in front of her, its glowing, gold rimmed black eyes staring at her malevolently. Its long needle like teeth stuck out at odd angles from its gaping mouth, and its long eel like body was covered in silver fish scales, giving the fish a very archaic look. The Sentinel's mouth alone was big enough to swallow her whole, and its body was so long that from where she was, she couldn't see its tail. Erica looked up at the Sentinel in horror, completely dwarfed by its vast size. The Sentinel roared, opening its enormous, teeth filled jaws. Erica fled, glancing behind her in time to see the entire school of Sentinel's untangling itself and swimming in her direction, singing like hellish whales as they swam after her.

_Oh my god,_ she thought.

The school of eel-fish swam after her, moving fluidly but fairly slowly. Erica needed to breathe, she risked a brief visit to the surface just long enough to gasp a breath of air. Then she dove back down, swimming as fast as she could, the Sentinels right behind her. In an attempt to escape, she swam towards the doorway of a submerged building. As she started to go through, she saw a moving glimmer in the darkness. She hesitated, treading water in the doorway. The glimmer suddenly shot forward! Erica darted away at the last second as the gnashing teeth of a Sentinel nearly came down on her. It had been lying in wait beyond the door! _Great, intelligent killer fish_, she thought sarcastically, _just what I need. Fortunately they're so big they swim slow._

The Sentinels pursued her as relentlessly as sharks hunting their prey. Suddenly, she remembered that sharks will attack and eat wounded sharks of their own kind, and she decided to try a risky idea that might turn the odds a little more in her favor. Quickly, she darted behind a stone wall and waited, holding perfectly still so the Sentinels wouldn't know where she was. Slowly, the nose of a Sentinel appeared, and then, just as slowly, the rest of the head followed. Erica held as still as possible. The Sentinel opened its mouth wide, howling that eerie cry— and that was when she attacked. She drew one of the baton swords and stabbed it deep into the roof of the Sentinel's mouth. She jerked her arm away just as the teeth came crashing down, its jaws snapping shut with a sound like a trap shutting, forcing the blade up through the roof of its mouth and into its brain. The huge fish went ridged in surprise and then started convulsing in its death throes. Blood clouded the water. The other Sentinels picked up on the scent of blood and, like sharks, turned on the injured fish and started eating it.

While the cannibalistic feast kept the Sentinels distracted, Erica stealthily swam away from them, undetected. One Sentinel, unable to join in the feast, turned its attentions elsewhere. Suddenly, it spotted her! Erica, unaware of the Sentinel rushing towards her, felt a strong current of water push against her. She turned around to see what was causing it and realized that the current was actually a wall of water displaced by the fish as it swam. She jerked out of the way and the Sentinel went hurtling past, its needle sharp teeth snapping at her feet as it went by. The Sentinel's momentum carried it several feet away and it began to slowly turn around to face her. Taking advantage of her chance, she swam erratically in an effort to escape, weaving in between stone columns and in and out of doorways and windows. The Sentinel tried to follow, but it wasn't fast enough. Soon, it lost her in the maze of submerged buildings, and though it couldn't see her, it continued following her by detecting her movement through the water.

Erica darted towards a small hole in a stone wall, knowing that the much larger Sentinel wouldn't be able to pass through. She stretched her arms in front of her and kicked her feet to go through—when she came to an abrupt halt, caught fast by her waist.

She was stuck!

She had misjudged how small the opening was, and was now trapped in it, the rock scraping against her back, stomach, and hips as she tried frantically to force herself though. Suddenly, she felt the push of water that heralded a Sentinel's approach. Instantly she froze, holding as still as possible so that it wouldn't detect her. She waited uneasily, wishing she could see behind her so she could keep an eye on the Sentinel. She spotted a crack between the stones in the wall and craned her neck so she could see through it. On the other side of the wall, the Sentinel was swimming in a circle, trying to find her. She watched as the Sentinel searched for her, and she held as still as possible so it wouldn't detect her movement. Each time the hideous head turned in her direction she had to suppress a flood of panic, dreading that it had found her. But soon another fear was sharing space with her fear of being eaten. She needed to breathe! But if she moved, it would find her— _I have to breathe!_—No, just a little longer and the Sentinel would be gone, it was starting to leave. Hold on just a little longer— _I have to breathe!_ —

She couldn't take it anymore. A few bubbles burst from her mouth.

_Oh no_, she thought.

She forced herself to look through the crack in the wall. The Sentinel had detected the movement of the bubbles and was slowly turning towards her. Now that it knew her general location, the enormous gold rimmed eyes pinpointed her exact position. The Sentinel grinned cruelly, relishing the thought that its prey was trapped and defenseless. Erica watched it with growing panic as the Sentinel started swimming _straight towards her_!

In desperation, she pressed her hands against the stone on either side of the opening, arched her back, and pushed against the stone as hard as she could, trying to force herself through to the other side. The rough stone rasped against her singed back, making her burns sting. And as she began to move forward, the jagged edges of the stone bit into her skin painfully, and she could feel some of them go very deep. She gritted her teeth against the pain as she pushed against the stone, frantically trying to tear free. After all, what were a few scars in exchange for her life? With a final push from her arms, a sound like ripping cloth and a feeling like her skin being torn off, she shot through the hole.

She wasn't a second too soon. Behind her, the Sentinel crashed into the wall, sending a shockwave of vibrations through the water as its enormous bulk hit the solid stone wall. Erica's own momentum coupled with the shockwave sent her tumbling head over heels through the water. When she stopped tumbling she opened her eyes to see a few of the Sentinel's needle like teeth protruding through the hole. The Sentinel backed away from the opening and glared balefully through the hole at her with its pumpkin sized, gold ringed black eyes. Erica stared back at it, praying that it wouldn't swim over the wall and come after her. If it did, she would never make it to the surface. The Sentinel hurled itself at the opening, trying to reach her. Instead, its nose and mouth became stuck fast in the hole, just like Erica had been. The huge fish thrashed its tail and its long eel like body writhed, but it couldn't escape.

Erica almost couldn't believe her good luck. Exhausted and her lungs burning for air, she turned away from the infuriated Sentinel. She spotted the column of light shining down through the hole in the "ceiling", lighting up the dark water, and started to swim towards it. Almost instantly, she doubled up in pain. The wounds around her midriff and back stung agonizingly, and a few bubbles escaped from her mouth as she suppressed a cry of pain. She looked down at herself and saw blood seeping out from the deep slashes the jagged stone edges of the opening had gouged into her flesh. That was when she realized that the water around her was clouded with her blood.

_Oh no,_ she thought, _I have to get out of here_ now_, before the other Sentinels smell the blood and come after me._

With her last surge of energy, she started swimming again and was only twenty feet below the opening when she saw a slithering shape approaching through the water, racing towards her! She kicked her feet and swam as fast as she could —almost there, the surface was only ten feet away— glowing gold eyes, a flash of scales— the surface was five feet away —a jaw opening wide— three feet— shining teeth inches from ripping into her—

A pair of hands wearing black gloves reached through the hole above her, plunging down into the water. The hands grabbed her outstretched arms in a grip as strong as a vise before pulling her forcibly to the surface, jerking her away from the Sentinel's gaping jaws at the last possible second. As soon as her head was out of the water she gasped for air, her feet instinctively trying to find a footing on a stone floor slick with water. Before she could regain her balance, the person that had pulled her out of the water picked her up and swept her away from the hole in the floor and over to safety. As he picked her up and cradled her in his arms, his hands brushed against the wounds on her back and stomach, sending a searing pain shooting through her body. She yelled and struggled, but he held her still.

SPLASH!

Erica jumped, startled. Water shot out of the hole in the floor as the Sentinel tried to fit through. Water blurred her eyes, but she could see the hazy outlines of soldiers rushing to surround the hole. They pointed their guns at the enormous fish, and she heard several gunshots and shouting, and then there was some violent splashing. Red, bloodstained water streaked the stone floor as it was splashed out of the hole. Abruptly, the splashing stopped and all was still, the only sound was the water sloshing around the stone rim of the hole and trickling down the grooved patterns in the floor.

"That was very close, wasn't it?" Kroenen whispered in her ear, breaking the silence.

He gently set her down on the floor and she wiped the water out of her eyes so she could see clearly. Kroenen stood in front of her, his black gloves and the arms of his black trench coat soaking wet up all the way up to his shoulders. She also noticed that the front of his trench coat was slick with water and had dark red stains running down it in droplets from where he had been holding her. He noticed her gaze and looked down at himself, then at his gloves which were also stained crimson.

"You're bleeding badly," he observed, looking back up at her.

Bleeding? That was _her_ blood? She looked down at herself. The lower half of her black shirt had been torn off, and the top edge of her pants was shredded and frayed. The remaining skin on her stomach and hips was pale white, the rest was covered in an intricate network of deep, bloody gashes and cuts. She tried to look over her shoulder to see the damage to her back, but Kroenen put a hand on her shoulder, stopping her.

"Is it that bad?" she asked.

"Ja. Trust me, you don't want to look." he said, "Come with me and I'll stitch your wounds closed."

Shaking from exhaustion, she followed him over to a wall of the cave where a spotlight was standing. She sat down on a rock and he readjusted the spotlight so it gave him enough light to see clearly.

As Kroenen opened a container that held his medical supplies, Erica felt an odd weight hanging around her neck and looked down. Hanging around her neck was the leather pouch that she had placed the crystal in. She had been so focused on escaping that she had forgotten all about the crystal. She fumbled with the cords that held the bag closed and then tipped it upside down. Water poured out along with the crystal, which tumbled out into her palm.

"I went through all of that for this?" she said, "I went through all of that horror, all of that Hell for a crystal?"

"A very special crystal, remember." Kroenen said, his back to her as he sorted through various needles.

"Still, a crystal, a rock nonetheless. Strange how something that might seem insignificant can be so powerful."

"Appearances are deceiving," Kroenen said simply, turning back to face her.

He saw her holding the crystal and held out his hand. She gave it to him, and he put the crystal in a pocket of his trench coat and then turned his attention back to her. He reached over and swept the dark, dripping strands of her hair out of her face.

"You're missing one of your baton swords." he said, noticing the empty sheath strapped to her leg.

"And those monster eels are missing one Sentinel." she replied.

Kroenen laughed softly and started examining her wounds.

"These cuts are very deep. How did you get them?" he inquired.

"I tried to escape from a Sentinel by swimming through a hole in a wall. Then I got stuck and had to force myself through the hole."

"I thought you told me you were going to be more careful." he said, as he moved around behind her to look at her back.

"I _was_ being careful! I was being careful not to get killed! And—"

Kroenen interrupted her, gently laying a hand on her back.

"How did you manage to burn your back this badly?" he asked, his voice hushed.

"I ran into a monster," she said, closing her eyes and shuddering at the memory, "It was like fire, but it had thirteen red eyes. I looked at its eyes and something strange happened. I—I couldn't look away, and I heard its voice in my head. The fire touched me and it burned me before I could pull away."

"And what did it say to you, this fire-creature?"

"It said: 'Stay, child of the flame. Stay here and become part of the fire that owns you.'"

Kroenen was silent for a moment, and then he spoke. "What you encountered was an ancient demon. You were very fortunate to escape from it with a few severe burns. If you hadn't pulled away, it would have completely destroyed you. And as you have discovered, there _is_ a reason why the saying 'play with fire and you'll get burned' came about. I trust you'll remember that in the future."

He walked back over to his case of medical supplies and picked up a needle and suturing thread. She grimaced as she watched him thread the needle. He saw her face and laughed.

"After all the times you've had stitches you _still_ haven't gotten used to them." he said.

"They hurt." said Erica.

"You know I would never purposefully harm you," he said, looking at her, "But don't worry, this won't take very long. After all, Grigory is waiting for us to return. And besides that, remember that we only have so long to build the portal generator."

Author's Notes: A very intense, action filled chapter. I hope you liked it, I was trying to show how much Erica and her life have changed. Next chapter takes place five years after this one, in the year 1944, the same year as the beginning scene in the movie. Please send ideas! And review, pretty pwease!


	11. The Angel of Death’s Wicked Sense of Hum

Chapter Eleven: The Angel of Death's Wicked Sense of Humor

Disclaimer: Hellboy characters do not belong to me. However, Erica is mine.

Author's Notes: Thanks for the reviews Psycho Llama, DarkCloudRider, Gestalt, and Blu Embyr! I feel so loved! Ideas and suggestions are still welcome, and a special thanks goes out to DarkCloudRider for sending ideas, they reminded me of a few key things I had forgotten about! This chapter is five years into the future from the last chapter. That means it's 1944 and Erica is 22 years old, so you'll be treated to more action, plus an update on the portal generator. And the Shadow Man makes an appearance, and not for the last time! (hint hint!) Everyone review, pretty please!

**Psycho Llama:** More action in this chapter! And if you loved the scene following Kroenen pulling Erica out of the water, just wait 'til you see some of the things in here! As for the monsters and so on, the reason they're so unique is because I took them from a nightmare I had!

**DarkCloudRider:** Thanks so much for the ideas! And yes, I am planning to write a sequel to this story when it's over in a few chapters.

**Gestalt: **Glad to hear you liked the Sentinels and the fire demon!

**Blu Embyr: **Yup, she got the pretty rock! And I wrote more suspense and action in this chapter, since everyone seemed to like it so much!

_September 28, 1944_

Kroenen was crossing the courtyard that he and Erica used for combat training, heading for his lab in the cellars of the mansion. This was just one of many shortcuts he used to reach his lab, and there were others that would get him there faster, but he wanted to know how Erica was. She was supposed to be practicing her combat skills with a servant that he had sent to her. The servant had been displeasing him of late, so sending the servant to practice with Erica seemed a fitting punishment. Behind his mask Kroenen grinned, wondering just how long the servant would last, assuming that the servant in question hadn't already died. Kroenen didn't have long to wonder, as a voice interrupted his thoughts.

"Would you like to practice with me? I need an opponent." Erica called.

Kroenen stopped and turned to face her. She was dressed in her usual black uniform, but she had taken off her trench coat and he could see it lying on the ground nearby. Her long brown hair was pulled back in a loose ponytail by a silk black ribbon tied in a bow. Her overall appearance was deceptively charming, so long as you ignored the bloodied sword in her hand and the drops of blood smeared across her black jacket and her right cheek. The servant was nowhere in sight. Kroenen eyed the blood dripping off her baton sword. _You certainly are my Angel of Death, _he thought, using the nickname that the general public had for her, _You're beautiful but as lethal as any poison, no matter how beautiful the presentation to its victim is._ Instead of answering her question, he directed a question at her.

"What happened to the servant I sent to be your opponent?" he asked, though he had a feeling he already knew the answer.

"He couldn't handle me." she said, gesturing indifferently in the direction of the servant in question.

Kroenen turned his head, looking in the direction she had pointed to. A dead man was sprawled across the ground near a corner of the courtyard, minus his right hand, which had been cut off at the wrist. The sparkling silver shards of a broken sword lay by the man's side. _So he was unable to _hand_le her_, Kroenen thought, seeing the humor in her words.

"Very clever," he said, laughing approvingly, "And as I have said before, you have a very wicked sense of humor."

"I know," she said with smirk, "Now, shall we?"

"I hardly need an invitation." he replied, smiling behind his mask and flinging out his arms, allowing the long blades on his wrists to extend.

Like a whirlwind she was suddenly in front of him, the baton sword spinning and flashing in the afternoon sunlight, the glinting blade flying towards his metal mask. Kroenen crossed his wrist blades in front of his face, blocking her blade barely two inches from his mask. With her sword she pushed against the crossed blades in front of her, straining to push the blades towards his mask. She had no such luck. In one swift movement, he pushed his crossed blades towards her, knocking her slightly backwards. She spun with the push and came back at him, the tip of her baton sword flicking out towards his throat.

Kroenen laughed and ducked it, and then he did something that he knew would infuriate her. As he ducked and her blade went over his head, he reached towards her and, being careful not to cut her, he seized her left arm. Then, before she had a chance to defend herself, he swung her around so her back was to him, grabbed her ponytail and twisted it, _hard_.

"Ow!" she yelled. He twisted and pulled her hair again, "Stop it! You promised not to do this if I wore my hair this way when we practiced!"

That was true, he _had_ promised. Normally when she was going to fight she would braid her hair, wind it tidily around the back of her head, and then wear the hat that went with her uniform. This prevented her opponents from taking advantage of her long, loose hair as Kroenen had just done.

"Yes, I know I did," he murmured, weaving his fingers through her silky brown hair, "But you see, when you don't braid your hair, I believe I am correct when I say it's too tempting for someone to resist touching, whether the person is or is not your opponent."

"I think I'll take that as a compliment." said Erica in a strained voice. Because of how he had grabbed her hair, her back was arched painfully backwards. "Now, if you would be so kind, let go so we can continue."

"Oh, but I _won't_ be so kind," he said with a sinister chuckle, savoring the impatience in her voice, "But don't worry, we will continue. Or at least we will as soon as you give me your baton sword."

He felt her body go stiff with indignation. "What? Why?" she demanded.

"I need to make sure you haven't forgotten how to defend yourself should you loose your weapon."

"No," she said stubbornly, and she moved her baton sword so he couldn't reach it.

"Well then, I won't let go either." he replied coolly, "And I believe that leaves us at an impasse."

The golden afternoon sun shone down on the pair in the coartyard, its bright rays glinting on the sharp edges of Erica's sword and Kroenen's blades. It also shimmered gently on her hair, still caught in Kroenen's grasp. After the initial tug to get her attention, he just intertwined his fingers in her hair so she couldn't pull away. He wasn't hurting her, just preventing her from pulling away. Minutes passed, and Kroenen grew tired of waiting. His eyes fell on the black silk ribbon holding her hair back in a ponytail, and he got an idea. He shifted his grip and her hair slid smoothly over his leather gloved fingers as he began untying the ribbon.

"What are you doing?" she demanded, feeling his fingers pull gently on the ribbon.

"Taking the ribbon out of your hair."

"Stop it at once!"

"Only if you hand over your sword."

"No. Now stop it!"

Kroenen laughed at her words but didn't reply, and continued untying the black ribbon in her hair. He knew laughing at her would only make her angrier, and he loved it when he irritated her —she was more fun to fight when she was angry, particularly when she was angry with him.

He finished untying the ribbon and pulled it out so that her hair cascaded down over her neck and shoulders. In response Erica muttered something inaudible that seemed to be a mixture of German and English curses.

"Now," Kroenen said, murmuring in her ear, "I will return your ribbon if you give me your sword. And if you don't, I'm sure I can come up with more…creative ways to get you to comply."

"Oh fine!" she said in exasperation, holding out her baton sword so he could reach it.

Still holding onto her hair, he reached out and gently took her sword from her. Only then did he release her. She turned to face him and looked at him expectantly, strands of her hair drifting slowly across her face as the breeze blew.

"Here," he said, holding out the ribbon to her, but being careful to hold the sword out of her reach.

She took the ribbon and quickly pulled her hair back again in a loose ponytail. As she did, Kroenen retracted his wrist blades and gripped the hilt of her baton sword in a business like manner. Now defenseless, Erica carefully backed away from him, keeping both of her eyes focused on him, waiting for the moment he would attack. Without her sword, she would have to rely on rudimentary martial arts, and of course, the age old skill of dodging. But in truth, she didn't mind. She was only pretending to be angry. Yes, she was exasperated, but it was in a happy sort of way. Anyway, Kroenen wasn't really tormenting her, it was more like a father teasing his daughter than anything else. _And besides,_ she thought,_ there's no one else that can actually defeat me in a fight. He's the only one who can teach me to fight better._ Erica was distracted from her thoughts as Kroenen swung the baton sword low at her feet and she was forced to jump. He did it again, and she jumped again, this time making sure to back away. But he came forward, closing the gap between them, and swung the sword at her feet.

_This is like a perverse game of jump rope_, she thought as she jumped.

And as she jumped, out of the corner of her eye she saw the sword change direction and come sweeping up towards her head! She ducked in midair and then landed, cat-like, on her feet, though she was slightly off balance. Kroenen took advantage of this and with one kick, knocked her feet out from under her. Erica gave a muffled cry as she fell and landed on her back on the hard cobblestones. Looking up, she saw the baton sword sweeping toward her head and instinctively rolled away from it. She heard the swishing noise of the blade draw closer and then next thing she knew, the baton sword bit into the ground an inch from her face! Her startled grey eyes shot to it, and for a moment, she saw her face reflected in the blade's surface before the blade was tugged free.

Kroenen stabbed the blade towards her again, but she avoided it by rolling to the side, and she heard a metallic ping behind her as his sword glanced off a cobblestone. Then she tried to stand, knowing that she was the most vulnerable when she was trapped on the ground. So, apparently, did Kroenen. He tried to force her back to the ground, but she ducked the blade and scrambled onto her knees, accidentally turning her back to him. She instantly knew she had made a mistake and tried to turn around, but Kroenen was too fast. While she was still kneeling, Kroenen came up behind her and hit her on the back of the head with the hilt of the baton sword. She gave a soft moan and then slumped to the ground at his feet, partially stunned.

Erica lay on the ground trying to recover, the back of her head throbbing painfully from the hilt's impact on her skull. Dazedly, she gingerly touched the back of her head, and could feel a slight lump starting to form where he had struck her. She felt a shadow fall over her, and still lying on her back, she glanced up at Kroenen.

"Never turn your back on someone better armed than you." he scolded, tilting his masked face down to look at her.

"Yeah, well, don't give weapons to your opponents either!" she said.

As she spoke, she grabbed a baton sword from its sheath on his leg, rolled out of his reach, and stood up.

"Now it appears that we're even." Kroenen said, as he put her baton sword in the empty sheath on his leg. Then he held out his arms at his sides, and his wrist blades smoothly slid out of his sleeves again. "But as you can see, appearances are deceiving."

"That's true," she said, as she calmly put his sword in her own sheath, "but I myself have a trick or two up my sleeve."

As soon as she finished speaking, she violently flung out her arms, extending her own wrist blades. She crossed them in front of her face and smirked at Kroenen's startled appearance.

"Now we're even!" she yelled, before she attacked.

The crash of metal on metal echoed jarringly as they fought back and forth across and around the courtyard in a graceful, dangerous dance. They were more evenly matched now, Erica was almost as good as Kroenen was and she knew it would be more difficult for him to gain the advantage. Their feet carried them close to a pair of metal statues near some thick stone columns that held up a balcony, and Erica scrambled behind one of the statues to escape. Kroenen didn't stop himself quite soon enough, and his blade glanced off the metal statue, sending sparks into the air. Keeping the statue between them, Erica lunged out at him, but he easily blocked her and lashed out at her. She ducked back behind the statue and then jumped out ready to attack— but Kroenen was gone!

She looked around the statue. _Where did he go?_ she wondered. Then she heard a soft noise above her and looked up in time to see him perched on top of the statue, crouched like a nightmarish black panther.

"Always look _up_!" he said, as he leapt at her, his trench coat billowing out around him.

She backed away, _fast_, andhe landed on his feet and immediately swung his blades at her throat. She raised her sword to block him, only to discover he had been feinting. Instead of continuing to fight, he stepped backwards and ducked behind a white marble column that was part of the double row of wide, thick columns that held up a balcony overlooking the courtyard. She followed him, knowing that if she wasn't quick enough that he would disappear. She wasn't fast enough. He wasn't behind the column where he should have been.

"_Scheiße_." she cursed, moving cautiously to look around each column.

The problem was that the columns were so thick that you couldn't see around them, which meant he could be behind _any_ of them by now. Erica looked all around her as she went around a column, this time making sure to look up as he had an uncanny ability to scale vertical surfaces with all the ease of a spider. This was one trick of his that she hadn't learned yet, and she doubted she ever would. She glanced behind her, and still looking behind her, she continued walking around the column.

Unbeknownst to her, Kroenen was actually following _behind_ her, standing behind the columns where she had already looked for him. _This won't work for long, _he thought, _she knows me too well. She'll figure it soon. So I think I'll surprise her._ He continued following her, and the moment she looked behind her, he positioned himself directly in front of her. She continued walking, still looking over her shoulder, and—

THUD.

—she walked right into him, just as he had planned. Startled, her head snapped around to face forward, and she found herself less than half an inch from his expressionless, ebony mask. He grabbed her shoulders so she couldn't back away.

"Don't constantly look over your shoulder for your enemies," he warned her, "if you do, you're likely to be stabbed in the heart instead of in your back."

"Do you have any _other_ wonderful insights or suggestions to impart?" she asked sarcastically.

"As a matter of fact, yes. Never expect your opponent to give up and die, and never assume your enemy is dead—make sure of it." he said, grinning wickedly.

Then he pushed her so she went stumbling back out into the courtyard, and he followed at a run. He launched himself at her, but she dropped to the ground and rolled to the side, then struck out at him as he went by, managing to leave a long slash on the arm of his trench coat. He turned back to her just as she stood and attacked again.

"Good. You're getting better." he said, blocking a particularly vicious thrust.

"Always." she said, smiling, though she was slightly out of breath.

He noticed this, and as if they were both thinking the same thing, they broke apart and stood facing each other.

"Truce?" she asked.

Kroenen nodded and they both relaxed, dropping their fighting stances. Erica let her sword drop to her side and then brushed a few pieces of hair out of her face, taking the opportunity to catch her breath.

"You are improving, but you'll never be as good as me." said Kroenen, breaking the silence.

"And why's that?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.

He moved with lightning speed and was suddenly behind her, pinning her arms to her sides and crushing her against his body with his left arm. With his right he held the blade on his wrist to her throat. Defenseless and unable to move, she held very still, her heart pounding. _I didn't expect that to happen,_ she thought, genuinely astonished that he had trapped her so quickly and so easily. She felt the cold steel of the knife pressing sharply against her throat, and in an effort to put some space between herself and the knife, she tilted her head so it rested against his shoulder. She could hear the soft ticking of his internal clockwork and the rasping as he breathed through his mask. He bent his head down and whispered in her ear.

"The reason you will never be as good as me is that through my improvements to myself I am faster and stronger than you. And unlike you, I cannot die. Being shot doesn't affect me. Or have you forgotten so soon what that enemy spy did the second he spotted you, The Angel of Death?"

"No," she sighed, remembering the event that had taken place only six months ago. One night she had caught an enemy spy snooping around the grounds surrounding the mansion, and he, realizing who she was, had shot at her. She had managed to deflect two bullets with her sword before she was hit. Blinded by anger and pain she had decapitated the spy in less than a second and then collapsed. Ilsa had found her and taken her back to the mansion. Kroenen had not been happy that Erica had been injured, and she had not particularly enjoyed the painful hour it took to dig the bullet out of her shoulder. She still had the scar.

"The Angel of Death," he whispered, as if to himself, "Such an interesting if appropriate name that they've given you…"

He paused for a moment. When he spoke again, his voice had changed.

"However, you are the closest to my skill that anyone has ever been or will ever be. And you would excel even more, if only…" he trailed off, leaving his sentence unfinished.

But unlike his words, his thoughts were _very _complete. And Erica knew what he was thinking about without even asking, she knew what was going through his head. By accident or by his design, she had walked in on enough of his "modification" sessions and seen enough of his drawings to know what he would like to do to her if she would let him. He had asked her several times before, and each time she had refused. She liked herself the way she was, and no matter how often Kroenen said that the human body was weak and fallible in comparison to machines, there was no way she would let him start replacing parts of her with clockwork. Kroenen knew this, but every once in a while he would subtly slip his question into a conversation, sometimes not even coming out and saying it, but just barely suggesting or hinting at it as he had just done.

"I'm sorry, Kroenen, my answer is still no," she said. Then, knowing that her answer hurt him, she amended it, "And it will stay no unless I lose a limb."

"That could be arranged," he hissed softly in her ear, making her shiver. He still held the blade to her throat, and as he spoke he held her tighter.

For once Erica couldn't tell if he was joking or not. _What is he thinking?_ she thought, _Do I even want to know?_ Behind her Kroenen was completely silent, excepting for the soft sound of ticking clockwork. As the seconds stretched out into minutes, with him still holding her tightly and still pressing the blade to her throat, she began to get a little nervous.

"Kroenen? Please, let go of me." she said.

When she said his name he jumped a little, as if she had startled him.

"Forgive me," he said, releasing his hold on her, "Master is calling us. I forgot what I was doing."

She wasn't sure if this explanation completely justified his behavior, but she went along with it.

"What does he want us to do?" she asked, turning around to face Kroenen.

"He wants us to continue working on the portal generator," he said, "And I hope you ate breakfast this morning, because I believe we will be working on the portal generator for quite a while. He wants us to get it as close to finished as possible."

XXXXX

They had been working on the portal generator for the past five years, ever since Erica had retrieved the crystal they needed to help power it. Actually, the initial idea for the portal generator and the Ragnarok Project had been unveiled by Nazi scientists in 1938, shortly after Erica had arrived in Germany.

The reason it had taken them almost five years to build the portal generator was because it was extremely difficult to keep the portal stable for any length of time. Many prototypes for the generator had exploded. In fact, the initial model that they had built had exploded violently, killing the soldiers nearest to it and all the scientists operating it. Ilsa, Kroenen, and Erica had been standing a sensible distance away and were only injured by the flames and pieces of debris hurled through the air by the force of the explosion. Fortunately, the crystal Erica had retrieved survived the explosion, as well as the subsequent explosions of the other portal generators.

Mostly it had been Kroenen and Erica who built the generators, assisted by a multitude of Nazi scientists and soldiers. Ilsa occasionally helped, but most of the time she was too busy keeping an eye on politics in the Thule Occult Society and the Nazi government.

After all their work and research, they were the closest to their goal they had ever been. The portal generator was nearly complete, though there was still some hard work to be done. And it was because the generator was nearly complete that they were also the busiest they had ever been. The final date on which to release the Ogdru Jahad had been set, October 9, 1944, which was only eleven days away. And there would be no excuses— the portal generator_ must be_ finished on time.

XXXXX

Erica was _not_ happy. They were only sixteen hours into working and she was already tired. Using her visions so often to check the machinery was draining her of energy. However, unlike her, Kroenen was tireless, and even though she was tired and hungry, she forced herself to keep up with his endless energy. She helped bolt parts together, comparing their work with the blueprints Kroenen had drawn and then making sure the parts would work by using her visions. All this caution was necessary because the portal generator was a mixture of black magic and science, which made it extremely dangerous. But it also made it very powerful, providing you could harness its power without accidentally killing yourself in the process.

As the first day stretched into two, and then three, she found herself growing grumpy and irritated, which, even she had to admit, was a slight understatement. Not only had she not eaten or slept—resulting in a massive, pounding headache and a very short temper—but she was covered in dirt, oil, metal shavings, and sticky, half dried blood. Mostly the blood was from the Nazi technicians and scientists that were becoming increasingly irritating, getting in her way, not answering fast enough, or—worse yet—making mistakes. They had no time to be making mistakes, especially the huge mistakes made by the inept—at least from her point of view—Nazi scientists and technicians.

At first she had been lenient, but Kroenen soon discovered the number of his technicians was starting to dwindle. He had had a strong suspicion why, after all, he wasn't above killing a few of them himself when they displeased him, and he had noticed that Erica had developed a very short temper over the last few days. Just as he was thinking this, he saw Erica over by the portal generator, half in, half out of an opening in its side. She was using her visions to check the work the technician standing beside her had just finished. She could do this by thinking in her head what would happen if they did a test run. Then, if anything went wrong in her vision she could search for the cause and then direct the Nazi technicians to fix it. Currently her legs were deep inside the machine, and her arms were holding onto the edge of the opening in the metal to steady herself. Her eyes were closed, as she was concentrating to see if any mistakes had been made, but suddenly, her gray eyes snapped open.

"Idiot!" she snarled angrily at the technician standing nearby, "You put all those parts in wrong! Not only that, but some of them are the wrong size! Is it really that hard for you to follow a blueprint?"

As Erica climbed out of the portal generator and stood up, hands on her hips, the hapless man desperately tried to explain, and gestured at the portal generator and then to the enormous table covered in spread out blueprints. As he was gesturing, his hand knocked into a seven-foot high pile of haphazardly balanced parts. Instantly, the entire pile overbalanced and came crashing down— right on top of Erica. She gave a shriek of surprise as the weight of it knocked her to the floor.

The technician froze in place, looking dismayed and terrified, no doubt realizing what the repercussions for his actions were likely to be. Erica, lying on the floor half buried in the metal parts, looked up at the Nazi technician, her gray eyes murderous. The technician tried to apologize, but all that came out was an incoherent babble of words.

"I'm sorry—I didn't mean to—can I—please don't—it was an accident—"

"Start running! And you better pray I'm slow!" Erica snarled, clumsily disentangling herself from the parts and drawing one of her baton swords.

"Mercy!" the man begged, backing away from her.

But she continued stalking forward as gracefully and threateningly as a cat, and the technician did two of the stupidest things he could have done: he threw the hammer he was holding at her, and then he tried to run. Erica easily dodged the hammer and then sprinted after the technician, overtaking him in less than ten paces. She grabbed his shoulder, spun him around, and then slashed him across the stomach with her sword. He shrieked in pain and then collapsed on the floor at her feet. She kicked him aside disdainfully and then looked up, scarlet blood dripping off her sword. The other technicians and scientists hurriedly returned to work, pretending they hadn't been watching. She heard Kroenen's footsteps behind her and turned to face him.

"Erica, allow me to point out that as amusing as it is to watch you disembowel the technicians, and while the they are expendable, if you continue killing them at this rate I won't have any left. And it will be _severely_ inconvenient if I have to find more."

"I'm sorry," she said, "I can't help it. It's just that I'm so tired…"

"Perhaps you should go and rest," Kroenen suggested, "Go get something to eat and then go to sleep."

"Well, alright," she said, "If you're sure you don't need me for a few hours."

"I'll be fine. When you feel better you can come back and help fix anything that's wrong."

She nodded and left, much to the relief of the Nazi scientists and technicians who relaxed slightly. There was a reason, after all, why she was known as the Angel of Death. However, they relaxed prematurely. Though she was gone, they were still in the presence of Kroenen, who, while less likely to kill them for the reasons she had, was nonetheless capable of turning the lab they were working in into a bloodbath.

Erica closed the door to the lab behind her and almost collapsed on the floor. She grabbed the doorframe to steady herself. Apparently, she was more tired than she had thought. Now that her trance-like state of working was shattered she realized just how exhausted she really was. She hurt all over and her legs felt like lead. All she wanted to do was take a shower and go to _sleep_. Her stomach rumbled hungrily, she was _starving_. _Alright,_ she thought, _I'll get something to eat first and_ then _take a shower and go to sleep._

She headed for the kitchen. At this hour of the night none of the kitchen staff were to be found, they had tidied up the kitchen and then gone home for the night. _It's probably just as well,_ Erica thought, _Otherwise Ilsa might be complaining to me tomorrow about killing the cooks._

Erica opened a few cabinets and the refrigerator and ate whatever she could find, and then somehow dragged herself up all the stairs to her room. She barely glanced at the dark wooded furniture, the paintings hung on the walls, the blood red sheets on her bed, or the crimson curtains as she walked into the bathroom. She saw herself in the mirror and grimaced. She was a _mess_, there were dark circles under her bloodshot eyes and there was blood in her hair and all over her clothes. She shut the bathroom door behind her and took a shower. Then she blew out the candles in her room and collapsed onto her bed.

Almost instantly she fell into a blissful, and much needed, sleep.

But not for long.

XXXXX

She was in the dead garden. Again.

However, it wasn't like that was exactly unusual. Ever since her first visit here, she had come here almost every night.

Just as always, almost nothing grew here except for some moss in between the cobblestones, the ivy climbing the high stone walls fencing in the garden, or the lichens and slime-like algae that coated the fountain in the center of the garden. Some recent additions that had appeared over the years were some overgrown, poisonous looking weeds and toadstools. The trees in the garden were leafless and twisted horribly, their bark cracked and their wood split by past lightning strikes that had split most of the trees open to reveal their heartwood, which had subsequently begun to rot. The trees' bent, gnarled branches reached toward the dark clouds overhead, their shape resembling the claws of some beast. The wind whistled eerily through the branches and she shivered at the sound as she followed the crazily winding path that led to the courtyard in the center of the garden.

It didn't take her long to get there, after all, she walked the path almost every night. The courtyard was paved with cracked and stained cobblestones, and in the center of this courtyard was the fountain with the misshapen gargoyle in it. As always, foul, black water cascaded down from the jar the gargoyle held and into the fountain's cracked, gray stone basin.

And of course, the faceless Shadow Man was there as well, reclining casually against a nearby tree, waiting for her.

"Hello, Erica," he said with the mouth that couldn't be seen, "Care to play a game? Of course, you know as well as I do that we're already playing a game, a game of the most dangerous sort, but perhaps you would care to play against me in chess? After all, you do seem to so enjoy playing chess against your friend Kroenen."

"If you know that then you also know that I always lose when I play chess with Kroenen." she said.

"Yes, I do," the Shadow Man said, somehow giving her the impression he was smiling, "But after all, it's not about winning or losing, is it? It's about the challenge involved. Of course, I must admit, I do rather prefer it when I win."

"If it's a challenge you're looking for, then why don't you go and play against Kroenen?" she asked.

"Because he has already lost. He's no challenge. I've already won where he's concerned. You on the other hand, I have yet to completely conquer, though I am nearly there. Therefore, you are to some extent a challenge."

She looked at the Shadow Man, feeling confused. He was so polite and eloquent, but there was a disturbing quality to his words.

"I don't understand what you're talking about." she said.

"Soon you shall, soon you shall. It's all a matter of time, really. Come, I already have the game board set up, as I have for quite some time. I've been looking forward to this last match of wits with you, I really have."

The Shadow Man gestured to the edge of the fountain where a chessboard was set up. She walked over and took a seat on the stone edge of the fountain. The Shadow Man did the same. Erica looked up at the gargoyle in the fountain, she didn't like it, it seemed to be staring straight at her. The stone gargoyle grinned manically at her, its bat wings spread behind it and its forked tongue sticking out from between its sharp teeth as if it was taunting her. She looked down at the chess pieces on the board and discovered that someone had been playing chess, the pieces were not in their starting positions, instead they were spread out across the board.

"As you can see, you've already been playing this game for a while now." the Shadow Man said, gesturing at the board, "And what a game it has been, too! It's been extremely entertaining, at least, from my point of view it has been."

"But…I don't remember ever playing chess against you." she said, feeling confused.

"Don't you remember? You and I have been playing this game for _years_ now. And as with any game, ultimately there will be a winner. I'm very much looking forward to seeing which of us wins in the end, oh yes, very much! Make your move, if you can, after all, it is your turn."

Feeling very uncertain, she looked down at the board again. The Shadow Man's pieces were made of black obsidian, while her pieces were made from a grayish marble.

"Keep in mind that you're rapidly running out of time, Erica." the Shadow Man said, gesturing over his shoulder at the giant hourglass floating in midair.

Almost all the white sand at the top was gone, and the bottom of the hourglass was nine-tenths full of black sand. "And as you can see, I am winning." he said smugly, gesturing at the chessboard with a shadowy hand. She looked down at the chessboard. It was true, she only had a few pieces remaining: so far he had captured all of her most powerful pieces. All she had left were a scattering of pawns, her king, and a knight. He hadn't lost any of his pieces yet.

_How am I supposed to win with these pieces?_ she thought, _I practically have no moves left, most of my pieces are trapped by his_. Suddenly, something occurred to her.

"What exactly are we playing for?" she asked, "What is the winner's prize?"

"Your most precious, most valuable treasure." the Shadow Man replied greedily.

"My most valuable treasure?" she asked, not liking the tone in his voice, "What do I have that's so valuable?"

"Don't you remember? I told you once before. Have you truly forgotten it so quickly? In any case, you'll be finding out what it is very soon. Oh yes, very soon indeed, _Acire_!"

She shuddered when he said her true name. Like when Grigory used it, the Shadow Man said her true name with a power and authority—almost as if he thought he could make her obey him. But she only obeyed one person, Grigory, her Master.

"I thought you said you weren't going to call me that." she said.

"As I have told you once before, I may call you what you are," the Shadow Man said, "And you may do the same to me if you know any of my other names. In the mean time, it is still your move."

She went back to staring at the chessboard, searching for a way to win. But it seemed hopeless and impossible, every move she considered was blocked by his black pieces. The Shadow Man watched her, the flickering shadows that made up his face somehow managing to give the impression he was smirking.

XXXXX

Meanwhile, back in her room, a rather unpleasant surprise was taking form. Kroenen had left the lab roughly half an hour ago to get a book from his study. On the way he had been …distracted by a few strange men who were wandering among the corridors of the mansion, completely lost. He had temporarily "taken care" of the men, who he suspected were either assassins or spies, by locking them in the cellars when they had so foolishly wandered through the door. Now he stood in the doorway of Erica's room with the intention of asking her what she wanted to do with the men.

However, some opportunities were just too good for him pass up, and this was one of them. After all, it wasn't every night that Erica was so sound asleep that you could enter her room without her waking up.

Completely unaware of his presence, Erica slept quietly, wrapped up in red silken sheets, her breathing slow and rhythmic. Her long brown hair spilled over her pillow and the moonlight streamed in through the window onto her pale face. He almost hated to disturb her—almost.

He laughed silently to himself as he took a small throwing knife from its sheath on his belt. Yes, he intended to play a trick on her and yes, he was intentionally going to irritate her, but one thing Kroenen wasn't was stupid. It would be foolish as well as dangerous to directly approach her while she was asleep. So, taking careful aim, he drew back his arm and threw the knife.

THUNK!

It buried itself in the headboard of Erica's bed, so close to her head that it nicked her ear as it went by. Erica's reaction was as if she had been shocked by electricity.

She sat up with a jerk and her gray eyes flew open, her pupils huge and dilated in the darkness. Her eyes flicked to him even as she reached instinctively for the small dagger strapped to her wrist, her sleep dazed mind screaming at her _Assassin! Spy!_ Suddenly, as she became more aware of her surroundings, she looked at him and an expression of recognition passed over her face. For a moment, her hand paused as it reached for the dagger. However, her expression of recognition was almost instantly replaced by a look of anger and resolve. Almost faster that he could see, she drew the dagger— and threw it.

Like lightening it flew towards him, making a sharp 'zip' noise as it went. Kroenen sidestepped to avoid the dagger, but he miscalculated. The dagger flew by, but was close enough that it grazed him as it went by, ripping a hole in his pants leg just above his knee and making a shallow cut in his skin. The dagger continued on its path until it embedded itself into the frame of the doorway. Kroenen looked down at the cut and rip in his pants leg and then back up at Erica who was looking very angry.

"I suppose I deserved that, but that was a little below the belt for you, Erica." he said with a hint of amusement.

"Continue standing there and next time I'll aim a little bit higher. Then you'll really know what 'below the belt' means!" she said threateningly.

But Kroenen didn't leave. In one motion she reached for another knife lying on her bedside table and threw it at him. He sidestepped, but the knife struck him the chest with an odd, unpleasant sound, as if the blade had scraped against metal as well as bone. Kroenen merely glanced down at the dagger protruding from his chest, and then with a casual gesture he took it out and examined the hole in his chest. Through the hole Erica could see gears ticking and whirling, but no blood—Kroenen did not bleed. Kroenen gently fingered the hole in his chest, and then looked back up at Erica.

"Your aim is a little off this morning." he said.

Erica scowled at him and started reaching for another dagger.

"Don't you think you've done enough damage to me for one night?" Kroenen asked.

"No," she said flatly.

"Good."

"What?" she asked, looking at him with suspicion, "Why?"

"Because you have six murderously inclined 'visitors' downstairs. For the present, I trapped them in the cellars beneath the mansion. I thought you might like to decide what to do with them, as you appear to need something besides me to — ah, vent your anger on."

At the tone in his voice she looked at him as if seeing him for the first time since she woke up, and her eyes lingered on the hole in his chest.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to really hurt you," she said, sounding concerned, "But you really should have known better than to wake me up that way from the first sleep I've had in _days_."

He waved away her concern. "No matter. It's fixed easily enough. But what of your "guests"?"

She thought for a moment, glancing at a clock on her bedside table. It was four thirty in the morning, and since she was already awake she might as well get up.

"I'll go and deal with them now." she said.

"Good. I'll let them out of the cellars then— or at least, what's left of them." he laughed evilly.

"Don't bother. I'll go down to the cellar," said Erica, "I've been meaning to try out a few of your traps anyway. Of course, that's assuming my "visitors" haven't fallen into them already."

XXXXX

The assassins, for that was what they were, were lost. They nervously wandered through the underground rooms and passages—nervously because two of them had already been killed. The first had fallen through a trap door into an apparently bottomless pit, and the other had shrieked and then simply vanished into thin air the moment he had stepped into a room.

The remaining four assassins had been separated when two of them had gone through a doorway, and an impenetrable metal wall had slid into place, forcing each pair to go its separate way. One of these pairs was wandering down a corridor, their way lit by the single flashlight one of them carried. The men looked around them uneasily, knowing that The Angel of Death could be anywhere around them, stalking them in the shadows, watching them with cold gray eyes that burned like fire.

"Why on earth did we _ever_ take this job?" one man muttered, "We should have known better, all those rumors about the assassins she's killed."

"You know there's no truth in rumors," the other said, trying to put on a brave front, despite the fact he was scared.

"There is in these! She's not called the Angel of Death for nothing! I bet all these accursed traps are her doing!"

"I doubt it. More likely to be the other one, Kroenen. He's more involved with gears and so on. I just hope we don't run into him."

"Um, I'm just wondering, supposing that she can actually see the future, won't she be expecting us?"

"Nah. She's supposed to be working on some top secret project, she'll be too tired for anything else. All we have to do is catch her unawares and then—!" he made a slashing motion across his throat.

The other man laughed. "That'll be a shock, won't it! Now if we could only find our way out of this infernal darkness—"

"I assure you that you won't." said a cold voice that froze the two men's blood.

A shadow detached itself from among the other shadows and approached them. Erica stood on the edge of the circle of light cast by their flashlight, hands on her hips, a cruel smile on her lips. The two men gaped at her, how had she appeared out of nowhere?

"Oh no, you won't find your way out of darkness," she said, "You'll find your way down _into_ it as soon as you find your way _out_ of life. And though I'm sure you're capable of eventually finding your lumbering way there on your own, thanks to Kroenen's traps, I decided that I'd help to speed you on your way."

With those words, she drew a sword.

"Hah!" laughed one of the men, "You're going to fight us with a sword? And what use is a sword against guns?" he started to pull out a handgun.

"So you're stupid as well as clumsy," she said as he cocked the gun, "Very well. If you think you have a chance of killing me in my own home, I wish you the very best of luck. Believe me, you will need it. And now, shoot, kill, or catch me if you can!"

As the man aimed the gun to shoot, she was suddenly gone, melted back into the shadows. But they could hear her footsteps as she ran down the corridor. The assassins followed the sound until they suddenly found themselves in the middle of an octagonal room. All eight walls were made of glass, and through the glass could be seen hundreds of enormous gears turning and ticking. At the opposite side of the room was Erica, still with the smile on her lips. There was no other way out of the room except for the doorway the two men were currently blocking. Both men smiled triumphantly and raised their guns, and Erica, almost casually, pressed her hand against the wall.

"Going down!" she said mockingly.

There was a click, and the floor of the room directly under the assassins vanished. She caught a glimpse of their pale, shocked faces before the men dropped down into the dark, spike lined pit. There was a sickening sound, and then all was silent.

With a satisfied smile she turned and left without so much as a backwards glance. There were other visitors to attend to, and she, as the hostess, must play the terrifying and murderous part they expected of her.

XXXXX

The two remaining assassins crept through the darkened corridors of the mansion. They had found the door to the cellars open, and had finally found their way through the mansion to the floor where Erica's bedroom was. One man motioned to the other and pointed to the door to Erica's bedroom.

"That's the one, come on." the assassin whispered.

Slowly, he turned the doorknob, and opened the door. They snuck inside silently. The bedroom was dark, except for the soft glow of moonlight that came through the window. They spotted the canopy bed over in the corner, the red velvet curtains drawn back so they could see a sleeping figure wrapped up in the blankets. The two men smiled at each other, this was going to be easy. She wouldn't even know what happened.

Unknown to them, Erica was not only awake, but she was also standing just outside the open doorway, watching them. The 'sleeping figure' in her bed was nothing more than a few pillows that she had arranged to trick the assassins into thinking she was asleep. She stood in the shadows, her black clothes helping her to blend in, and she kept both eyes on them, waiting for the perfect moment to strike.

The two assassins approached the bed, walking as quietly as they could. As one, they raised their guns to shoot.

"On the count of five," one whispered. "Five. Four."

Behind them, Erica noiselessly stepped through the doorway.

"Three."

She calmly walked up behind them, a long knife gripped tightly in each hand.

"Two. O—"

Her knives flashed in the moonlight, whistling sharply through the air. The assassins were dead faster then they could blink. Their bodies slumped to the floor with a soft thud.

"When will you ever learn?" she said, looking down at their shocked faces and smiling.

With that, she turned on her heel and headed downstairs.

As she entered the dining hall, she saw a servant. She called him over.

"There's a mess in my room that needs taken care of," she said to him, "I had some "visitors" whose stupidity disagreed with me."

The servant nodded, and walked off to fetch a cleaning crew.

Kroenen, who was sitting in a chair at the table, overheard her and smiled. "You have a wicked sense of humor." he said as she walked over.

"I know." she said, smiling and flopping into the chair across from him. She picked up an apple from the table and began tossing it in the air. Kroenen watched her.

"A lady should be more graceful." he said, mockingly reprimanding her.

"But I'm not a lady, am I? After all, a lady would have been murdered very quickly if she had been where I was."

"Then perhaps," he said, "it is a fortunate thing that you had a good teacher."

"Yes, very fortunate." she said, smiling.

"So, that's how many attempts to murder you? Nine?"

"Ten," she corrected, "and likely not to be the last. At least not until the Ragnarok Project is completed."

"You've foreseen another, then?"

"Not exactly," she said, trying to explain, "Only that someone else is going to try to kill me in the future."

"And do they succeed?"

"I don't know, but I doubt it." she said, smiling. "We will have to wait and see. Oh, and by the way, if you need spare parts for anything, I dropped two of the assassins into one of your pits in the cellars."

Kroenen just laughed. She truly _did_ have a twisted sense of humor.

Author's Notes: I hope you liked this chapter, I was trying to show that Erica's fighting skills had improved, but that Kroenen was still better than her because of his "improvements". I also put in a lot of foreshadowing about what is about to happen, and if you saw the date at the beginning of the chapter, you know what's coming up! And major plot twists are coming up in the next chapter! Make me extremely happy and review please! (Or I'll send Kroenen after you to MAKE you review! Mwhahahahaha! Just kidding!)


	12. The Silver Necklace

Chapter Twelve: The Silver Necklace

Disclaimer: Hellboy characters do not belong to me. However, Erica is mine.

Author's Notes: Thanks for the reviews Blu Embyr, DarkCloudRider, Gestalt, Psycho Llama, and Anonymous person! BTW, ideas and suggestions are still welcome. Remember, a major plot twist is in this chapter! And everyone review, pretty please!

And let the plot twist commence!

**Blu Embyr:** Yeah, being woken up early is a pain. And lots more action will be coming up shortly!

**DarkCloudRider:** As to something else going on…I'm purposefully leaving some things unsaid so you have to guess about her relationships with the other characters. And I will send Kroenen over to you, providing I don't get my head lopped off in the process. (You know how he is about fangirls!) And yes, I'm thinking you got the whole "But he's already lost" thing.

**Anonymous:** It's great to know that you like how I've portrayed Kroenen. I'm sorry to hear that you don't like Erica, but you've judged her too soon. If you're still reading my story, perhaps you'll find that you like Erica a little more by the end of this chapter.

**Gestalt:** Yes, you will find out about the Shadow Man, that's mostly what the chapter after this is going to be about.

**Psycho Llama:** Yep, Erica has definitely gone evil! Great to hear you loved the part with the training, it was really fun to write.

"It is not our abilities that show who we truly are— it is our choices." — J.K. Rowling

October 4, 1944 

Ilsa sat alone at the table in the dining hall, the ignoring the dinner on her plate. She was gazing out the windows that took up one wall, but she didn't see the golden sun starting its descent toward the horizon, throwing the long shadows of autumn across the countryside. She was simply staring off into space, her head leaning against her hand, lost in thought.

_A pity Erica hasn't come to dinner, _Ilsa thought, sighing,_ But that's not a surprise, Erica hardly joins me for meals anymore, and Kroenen even less than her. I suppose they're busy, after all, October 9th is only a few days away. But I can't imagine what they're doing, they said they only had a few more finishing touches to put on the portal generator before they prepare it for transport to that island near Scotland._

Suddenly, Ilsa looked up, hearing the windows rattling in their frames. Then she felt it: a growing vibration that was beginning to shake the floor and walls. She could even hear the crystals of the chandelier overhead clinking together.

"What the—?" she began.

Then her tea cup began vibrating and clattering on its saucer, and Ilsa knew what was causing the vibrations. _Erica must be down in the cellars doing something to that pipe organ,_ Ilsa thought, suppressing a sigh of annoyance. Ever since Kroenen had first shown Erica how he had gotten the organ to play music by itself, Erica had been fascinated by it. She was always tinkering with the organ's clockwork to get it to play different songs, or sometimes to play some of the keys while she played the others. But the organ was so large that the vibrations from the music had a tendency to destroy anything and everything fragile in the cellars, as well as simply annoy everyone else by shaking the chandeliers and making the windows rattle.

As the vibrations continued, and Ilsa's tea cup continued to clatter around on its saucer, doing something that vaguely resembled a drunken Irish jig, Ilsa grumbled and stalked off to do something about it. _Besides_, Ilsa thought, _I may as well get Erica to come to dinner, she has to eat sometime_. As soon as she opened the door to the cellars she could faintly hear the music drifting up to her. Ilsa went down the stairs and then through the maze of passages, the music getting progressively louder as she got closer to its source. When she reached the end of the passage, she flung open the tall, ebony double doors and was nearly thrown back by the force of the music flooding out. Momentarily stunned, she stood in the doorway for a moment, listening to the pounding, flowing notes. _After all,_ Ilsa thought, _it's not like she plays badly._

Ilsa looked into the hall. Directly opposite her, the entire wall, from floor to ceiling, was filled by the enormous black and silver pipe organ, and Erica was sitting on the bench in front of it, her fingers rapidly dancing across the keys as she played. Deep wailing notes poured from the organ's pipes, the music echoing within the enormous hall, reverberating off the black marble walls and columns.

But Ilsa and Erica weren't the only beings present.

Shadows, vaguely shaped like extremely slender people, were rushing around the darkest corners of the hall, flowing and contorting as they went, sliding along the polished floor and streaming gracefully down the walls. The more daring shadows were twining themselves around the chandelier, making the flames of the candles flicker, while a few of the others had draped themselves over the pipe organ. One of the shadows had wound itself around one of the legs of the bench Erica was sitting on, and was now hovering behind Erica's back, reading the sheet music over her shoulder. The scene was eerily beautiful, and slightly disturbing, as it seemed that Erica wasn't aware of the shadows flitting around her.

With a sigh, Ilsa made her way across the polished black marble floor, the dancing shadows retreating as she drew close. When Ilsa was only a few meters from the organ, she noticed that of the three rows of keys, the top row of keys was playing itself, while Erica was playing the other two. That was when Ilsa heard a slight rattling sound from overhead. Ilsa looked up, nervously eyeing the silver chandelier hanging from the center of the high, domed ceiling. The vibrations from the music were shaking the chandelier alarmingly, and it looked like it was threatening to fall. And as if that weren't enough, the shadows twined about the chandelier were leering down at her, giving her the uncomfortable feeling that they were laughing at her.

Ilsa turned back to Erica, who was still playing, totally unaware of Ilsa's presence.

"Erica," Ilsa said, but the music drowned her out, "Erica!"

Even her shouting was drowned out, so Ilsa walked over right next to Erica and yelled.

"ERICA!"

Startled, Erica jumped, with the result that her fingers hit the keys sharply, producing a jarringly discordant sound that was as unpleasant as nails being scraped down a chalkboard, though it was much, much louder. Then, the music stopped, the last of the harsh notes fading rapidly.

Erica whipped around to face Ilsa, who was standing beside her, pale hands on her hips. As Erica turned, she caught a glimpse of the shadows, now swooping away and fading, looking a little sad and slightly irritated that the music had stopped.

"Where did they come from?" Erica asked, feigning surprise as she gazed after the last shadow fading out of existence.

"I know you've seen them before," said Ilsa, "They appear every time that organ starts playing."

"I have seen them once or twice," Erica admitted, "But not every time. And I didn't know they were here this time either."

"You're just lucky that they're not dangerous, if they were you would have been dead long ago."

"No, what you mean is I would have been dead long ago if I hadn't had people like you to teach me." Erica replied, standing up from the bench.

"Yes, that too," said Ilsa with a faint smile, "By the way, if you're hungry, it's time for dinner. Are you coming?"

"Yes. After all, I haven't eaten since breakfast this morning."

XXXXX

Dinner was over quickly and Erica, having finished eating, picked up an apple from the fruit bowl in the middle of the table and then leaned back in her chair. Ilsa watched as Erica leisurely peeled the skin off the apple, being careful so that the skin came off in one long, spiral piece. Then she cut the apple into eight pieces and started eating them, staring out the window at the sunset. Ilsa smiled, remembering Kroenen doing something very similar a few years ago when Erica had joined them for breakfast. He truly was like a father to that girl, Erica spent so much time with him that she had even picked up many of his mannerisms, such as his wanton destruction of innocent vegetables and fruit that happened to be lying around.

"You know, you're very much like him." Ilsa said, breaking the silence.

"Who? Kroenen?" Erica asked, turning to face Ilsa.

"Yes."

"I am everything that you and Kroenen taught me to be," Erica said with a smile, "But as he was the one that did the majority of the teaching, it shouldn't come as a surprise that I'm like him."

"That's true," Ilsa admitted, "It's just that…you're different somehow."

"Of course I am. Everyone is unique."

"It's beyond that. I just can't figure out what it is. Anyway, what were you doing, playing the organ? I thought you and Kroenen were finishing the portal generator."

"We did. All we needed to do was bolt a few metal plates on, that's all. Tomorrow we're going to prepare it to be transported."

"So that means you have some free time on your hands?"

Erica narrowed her eyes, looking at Ilsa suspiciously. "Yes." Erica answered.

"Good. I have a few boxes that I want moved up to the attic. Would you mind taking them up there for me?"

Erica thought for a moment. She had never been up to the attic, and here was a perfect excuse to go and look around up there.

"Oh alright," Erica said at last, "since I have nothing better to be doing."

"Well, actually, you do. Kroenen told me to ask you if you'd like to play chess against him tonight."

"I don't know why he bothers, he knows I always lose."

Erica sat there for a moment, thinking and absentmindedly toying with her necklace. Since the day Kroenen had given it to her, she had always worn it, he had made it for her. The necklace consisted of a small, silver watch on a chain, with a crescent on the back of the case, representing her scar. Also written on the back were Kroenen's initials and the date of the day he had given the watch to her, which also happened to have been her twenty second, and most recent, birthday. She fiddled around with the clock absentmindedly, sliding it back and forth on its chain.

"I'll play chess against him," Erica said, "But only after I take your boxes up to the attic."

XXXXX

Erica cautiously walked up the creaky wooden stairs that led to the attic, carrying the two boxes Ilsa had given her. When she reached the top of the stairs she set the boxes down on the floor and walked forward slowly, looking around the shadowy, dimly lit attic. This place was completely different from anywhere else she had been in the mansion. The entire space was made up of the sloped sides of the roof, and the only light came from the single window at the opposite end of the attic. The thick layer of dust on the wide, ancient floorboards muffled the sound of her boots as she walked, leaving footprints behind her. She meandered around the randomly placed piles of furniture and boxes, heading for the window.

She reached the window. The glass was dirty and only dim yellow light came through, accompanied by the pale, pink-orange light of sunset that glowed in occasional patches against the floor or sloped ceiling. She turned her back to the window and gazed around at her surroundings. The rickety staircase that led up onto the roof was nearby, and other than that, she was surrounded by boxes, old furniture, trunks, and footlockers, all covered in dust and spider webs. Oddly enough, she found the effect was charming, and she stood there, simply existing, feeling strangely calm and secure. All the thoughts of the things she had to do were so far away it was like they had never existed in the first place. This was a place where she could finally let her guard down and just relax for a moment. It was perfectly silent in the attic, the only sound was her own breathing. The silver-white cobwebs trailing down from the ceiling and strung between furniture caught the rays of the sun, turning the webs a pale gold color. Everything about the attic gave the place a sense of timelessness.

Erica smiled, a real smile that displayed the happiness that was glowing inside her just like the bright glow of the sunset outside. It was a type of happiness that she hadn't felt in a long time. This wasn't a self-satisfied happiness or a triumphant happiness. It was more like the content happiness of a child at the end of a summer day .Of course that was probably because this attic reminded her of the attic in her grandmother's old farmhouse, which was full of interesting odds and ends. She could just picture the cracked, full-length mirror that had been in her grandmother's attic, and the hours she had spent in the attic on rainy summer days, dressing up in clothes she had found in boxes, or playing with old toys. Startled by the vivid memory, she shook her head. _Where did that memory come from?_ she wondered. She hadn't thought of her life before coming to Germany for _years_.

She brushed her thoughts aside and idly walked over to the closest pile of boxes. She opened the box on top, shuffled through its contents, and finding nothing interesting, she moved on to another. She knew poking around in the attic could have its consequences if she accidentally came across something dangerously magical, but most of those things were kept somewhere safe, so there wasn't a high chance of that happening. Far more likely was the chance that she'd come across something really gross, like the last time she had wandered into Kroenen's operating room—she winced at the memory, and accidentally knocked over a box.

The box hit the floor with a dull thud, its impact instantly stirring up the dust, making her sneeze and her eyes water. In an effort to escape from the cloud of dust, she moved to another part of the attic. That was when she spotted an old trunk buried under some boxes that had been stacked on top of it. Curious, she moved the boxes sitting on the trunk, flicked open the tarnished metal latch, and opened the trunk.

Inside the trunk were some of the dresses Ilsa had tried in vain to get Erica to wear during her first year in Germany. And who could blame her? Erica had no interest in wearing anything with flowers, lace, or bows on it, especially if it was pink, as some of the dresses were. Scowling at them, Erica shifted the dresses aside— and then froze, staring at what had been revealed beneath them. There, in the bottom of the trunk, were her old clothes!

She carefully took them out and then knelt down on the floor. She unfolded one of the T-shirts, a red one, and held it at arms length. _I wondered what happened to these!_ she thought, _I suppose Ilsa put these up here after I started wearing my black uniforms instead._ She put her T-shirt aside, picked up one of her pairs of jeans, and started to unfold them. As she unfolded her jeans, something fell out of the pocket and lay glittering on the floor. She leaned over and looked at it, almost not believing her eyes. It was her silver crucifix necklace!

She sat there, her gray eyes riveted on the necklace as it lay on the floor, the silver shining faintly in the dim, dusty light. The silver was slightly tarnished, and the chain was broken, but there was no mistaking that necklace, which she had worn every day until she had lost it several years ago. _I wonder how it got here?_ she thought,_ I forgot that I'd lost it_. Her eyes spotted the broken chain. _So that must be how I lost it—the chain broke and it fell off. _A dim memory surfaced, something about a voice in her head yelling at her for having lost her necklace—and something about Grigory… _Yes! I remember now! I remember noticing my necklace was gone when I met Grigory. Where was I before that that I would have lost it?_ She thought for a moment. Then she had it. Right before she had met Grigory she had been in the hall with the pipe organ, and Kroenen had been teaching her how to dance.

_So the chain must have broken when we were dancing._ _I wonder why I never realized any of this before?_ Then something occurred to her. The necklace had been in the trunk with her clothes, which meant someone had found the necklace and had known it belonged to her. But if that was true, why hadn't her necklace been returned to her?

There was only one way to find out—to try to summon a vision about her necklace's past, something she couldn't do very well.

Nevertheless, she reached out towards the necklace, her fingers nearly brushing the metal. She hesitated and then, on an impulse, snatched it up.

And then everything was plunged into chaos.

The instant her fingers touched the necklace, the attic around her shattered as if it was a mirror that had been struck. The shards spun around her, so fast they were only blurs, shredding themselves into oblivion. The sound was _terrible_. If pots, pans, bricks, and glass suddenly replaced the rain falling from the sky, the deafening cacophony would only be a fraction of what she heard now.

_What the—? _she thought, barely able to hear herself think over the terrible noise, _This shouldn't be happening—Visions shouldn't appear unless I call them!_

The shards finished shredding themselves and she was left alone, surrounded by darkness, and mercifully, it was silent. She could see herself, but everything else was black, and everything was so completely black that she couldn't tell where the ground was other than by the fact she seemed to be standing on _something_. She barely had time to wonder what was happening when a blinding flash of light, brighter even than lightning, appeared. Then it was gone.

In front of her, she saw herself and Kroenen standing in the hall with the organ. Clearly this was right after Kroenen had pulled her out of her vision, because he was holding onto her, and she was looking up at him, tears sliding down her face. Erica watched as the Erica in front of her pulled away from Kroenen—and that was when she spotted the chain of her crucifix necklace caught on a pin on Kroenen's uniform. The Erica in the vision continued to pull away, and the chain of the necklace snapped. The Erica in the vision didn't notice, and she ran from the hall, her white dress streaming after her. As soon as she was gone, Kroenen looked down to where the necklace lay on the black marble floor at his feet, and then bent down and picked it up, carefully slipping it into a pocket of his uniform—

A bright flash of light blinded her and then was gone. Erica found herself in the attic, and Ilsa was standing in front of her, hurriedly stuffing Erica's old clothes into the trunk. And just before Ilsa closed the lid of the trunk, she hid Erica's necklace in one of the pockets of a pair of jeans. Erica watched Ilsa leave, feeling anger starting to boil up inside her. _They knew! They hid it from me on purpose! But why_ — her thoughts came to an abrupt halt as the floorboards heaved upwards, knocking her off her feet. As she fell, the bright light appeared again. It vanished, and she fell against a wall and hit the floor with a cry of pain. She scrambled to her feet. She was in the entrance hall of the mansion on the stairs, and Ilsa and Kroenen were standing off to the side. In the middle of the floor she saw Grigory and herself.

"You don't frighten me! I bow to no one!" the Erica in the vision yelled.

"Well, we'll just see about that, won't we?" said Grigory, his voice deadly.

Black shadows began whirling around the defiant Erica in the middle of the floor, whose expression of defiance suddenly turned into terror. Watching from where she stood on the stairs, Erica turned her head away, unable to watch what she knew was going to happen. For some reason, a part of herself felt ashamed at watching herself, and seemed to be saying: _Why did you give in so easily?_ Erica ignored the voice and, hearing her own voice sobbing, she looked back at the scene.

"Never…I won't…"

"SAY IT! I _command_ you to say it, _Acire_! Claim me as your Master!"

"Master…" she heard the girl crouched on the floor whimper.

Erica watched, suddenly feeling obscurely sick, seeing herself kneeling in front of Grigory like a dog that had been whipped. Then a harsh voice in her head interrupted: _He is your Master, and you disobeyed him! You deserved to be punished!_ Inside, Erica cringed. Of course, the voice was right. She had deserved to be punished, what could she have been thinking? But still, she could remember how when she had spoken those words, how the words had seemed to be dragging out her soul with them— She heard Grigory's voice again.

"Now, Acire, beg your Master for mercy." Grigory ordered.

"Mercy," the girl begged, barely able to choke out the words.

Grigory smiled smugly. Erica felt anger flare up in her. How _dare_ another human being treat her like that! _But you defied him!_ said that same harsh voice in her head,_ You were punished just as you deserved, he put you in your place!_

Erica swayed a little, putting her hand to her head. She suddenly remembered feeling like this before, as if their were two different people in her body— a flash of light— she was in the black obsidian hall, with the gears turning behind their panes of glass, lit from behind by a hellish orange light. She saw herself and Grigory facing each other, and Ilsa and Kroenen standing nearby.

"You agree to help us?" Grigory asked.

"Yes." the Erica in front of him answered.

"Of your own free will?" he asked.

"Yes."

"Then we shall seal our agreement."

She watched as Ilsa picked up the knife. _Why did you do it? _One side of her wailed,_ Why?_ Then the harsh voice interrupted._ You did the right thing and you know it!_

Then came a whole series of images, all of which seemed to be things she had done since she had joined the Occult, or things that she had caused or been involved in. And with each new image the two dueling voices, the two sides of her, continued to comment, growing steadily more vocal.

—She was in one of Kroenen's labs, working on the portal generator—she saw through a technician's eyes as she watched herself whip him around, snarling in anger, her eyes murderous. She felt his terror and then his pain as she ended his life with a slash of a knife—she saw through one of the assassin's eyes, looking down in horror as he plunged into the pit towards the spikes. She felt his fear, knowing he was about to die— She was Yohann Vasser, listening to her own mocking words as he died, knowing he had been caught, but also knowing that the information he had given to the Nazis' enemies would lead to the arrogant girl's downfall—she was Hayner, lying on the floor, a sword at his throat. He had sworn to Vasser that he would help defeat the Nazis, and if he was going to die, then he was going to defy that girl to the last—

She was in a room full of maps showing the positions of the Nazi and Allied troops. She saw herself standing with various Nazi military personnel, pointing out the location of Allied troops and informing the Nazis of the Allied troop's plans. She had done this many times, using her visions to gain information the Nazis would never had acquired otherwise—she was plunged into the havoc of a battle that had just started between the Nazis and some Allied soldiers that had been ambushed in the middle of the night while they were sleeping, thanks, of course, to her shared information. The night was full of screams, the deafening roar of gunfire, flashes of light and the following thunder of explosions. Flames leapt up where the grass and some of the tents had caught on fire, and there was a blinding explosion as the fire hit some containers of gasoline. The Allied soldiers milled around in confusion, having no idea who was attacking them or from where. The soldiers were easy targets for the guns of the Nazi troops surrounding the camp, and one by one each of the Allied soldiers were shot down.

"No!" she half yelled, half sobbed, wishing she could stop it, "No, no, no!"

But it was too late, she already knew the outcome of this battle, it had happened a few weeks ago. She knew that every single one of the Allied soldiers had been killed, not a single one had escaped or been captured. Looking around at the carnage of the battle Erica felt sick, horror struck that her actions had caused something like this. Well, at least part of her felt sickened, the other half was—was _laughing_! This made the other part of her feel even more appalled. It truly was a bizarre feeling, to feel like there were two vastly different people in her body.

The battlefield disappeared, and she saw Schenck, the man that ran the prison she had been taken to all those years ago, working in his office. A shadow fell over him and he looked up, and then his face contorted in terror. Then there was a flash of a pair of baton swords and the dull gleam of light on a familiar metal mask, and Schenck lay dead—she was in the middle of the masquerade ball, watching from behind Leonard's eyes as he died, having no idea why—a brief and gruesome flash of Leonard's parents, tortured to death by Kroenen for trying to kill her—

_See what you've caused?_ the one voice said. _They were your enemies. They got what they deserved!_ insisted the harsh voice, and Erica felt a surge of confidence in herself. Why, there was nothing wrong in what she had done, how could she _ever_ have thought that? But just as suddenly, her confidence was gone, and she was back to staring at the carnage she had caused with a growing horror.

"What have I done?" she whispered in disbelief.

_You know what you've done,_ accused a stern voice from somewhere behind her, different then the other two. _But do you have any idea of what your actions are about to cause?_

She turned around to see who was speaking, and instead of seeing a person, she found herself suddenly surrounded by a city engulfed in flames. Rubble lay in enormous piles all around her: huge chunks of concrete, twisted steel beams, shattered glass, and downed power lines covered the ground, which was nothing but hard dirt scarred by fire where the grass had been burned away. The ruins of buildings were the only things still standing, their ghostly forms silhouetted against the sky. The sky itself looked like it was burning, it was covered in blood red clouds and the thick, black columns of smoke rising up from the fires. And protruding through the clouds were long, copper colored tentacles that were slowly waving and moving over the hellish scene.

_You recognize this, I know_, said the stern voice_, It's a vision you've had many times before, and have never realized what it truly was. And this vision of yours_ will _come true unless you do something to stop it, instead of helping it as you have been._

"What do you mean, helping it?" she asked, looking around at the piles of rubble, searching for the source of the voice.

_You wretched creature, you've done nothing but work towards this version of the future! Don't you recognize it?_

"No," Erica said flatly.

_Really? I'm surprised. After all, this is Rasputin's design for the future._

Erica's mouth dropped open in shock. "What? That can't be right! This is—this is Hell on Earth! It's nothing like the Eden he talked about!"

_But he did say the world would be destroyed and then reborn from the ashes. One must wonder, if everything is destroyed, how anything can then rise from the ashes. And _you_ have been helping Rasputin reach his goal. If you haven't realized it by now, he's been _using_ you._

Erica didn't say anything in reply. She was horror-struck. _How could I help him do this? I don't want the world to be destroyed! _she thought, staring in horror at the destroyed city around her.

_If you want to, you can prevent this. You can stop Rasputin._

"What?" Erica asked, hardly believing what she was hearing. One part of her wanted to do something, but how would she have any chance against him?

_Actually, I should say: only you can stop Rasputin. You have all the knowledge and skills you need, and if you're careful, you're not likely to be caught._

"But—But I can't betray the Thule Occult Society!" Erica said, realizing what the voice was talking about.

_Yes, you can. And you will, if you want to save your soul. Either way, you must choose to either fight with or against the Occult. Even deciding not to fight with or against them will let them win, because only you can lead to the Occult's defeat, just as you are the only one that can save yourself. Ultimately, the choice lies with you, but just remember that if you fail to act_ _all will be lost_.

The burning city blinked out of existence, and Erica suddenly found herself kneeling on the ground, surrounded by a familiar smell of dust. She looked up.

She was in the attic.

Erica knelt on the floorboards, trembling and breathing hard, her clothes and hair covered in dust. Her right hand was clutched in a fist around her silver necklace so hard that she could feel the cool metal biting into her palm. She felt something wet running down her face and realized that she was crying.

"What have I done?" she whispered aloud. "And what have I allowed to happen to myself?"

She suddenly realized that it was dark in the attic, and she looked towards the window. Outside it was night and gray wispy clouds were racing across the sky. Silver stars were sparkling in the black sky beside a glowing white crescent moon. Seeing the moon, she looked at the crescent shaped scar on her arm, tracing a finger over its curved shape as tears continued to run down her face. _This is what started it, _she thought, _this is what started it all._

She sniffled and wiped a hand across her face, leaving dusty streaks behind as she tried to wipe away her tears. Then, almost absentmindedly, she toyed with the chain of her cross necklace, getting the broken links to close again so that the necklace chain was whole. Then she reached up and put her cross necklace on, tucking it under her shirt so it wouldn't be seen.

As her hands dropped away from her neck, they hit the silver watch hanging around her neck. Her fingers wrapped around it and she looked down, staring at the initials on the back of the case. _K.R.K., _she thought, _for Karl Ruprect Kroenen…Why did you hide my necklace from me? Why?_

Suddenly, a wave of anger hit her, boiling up from deep inside her. _How could they have done this to me? How could they have lied and tricked me? _she thought, _How could they use me to reach their goals? How could they?_

Before she knew what she was doing she was rushing out of the attic and down the stairs, racing through the deserted corridors of the mansion, running as fast as she could towards her study. She had never felt so angry before. Her friends—her only friends—had done this to her. Yes, she had ended up going along with them in the end, but they had been the ones to take her necklace, to convince her that theirs was the only way, to—_How could they?_ she thought, hot, angry tears running unchecked down her face.

She reached her study and yanked open the door, running inside before slamming the door shut as hard as she possibly could. She strode towards the lit fireplace, violently shoving a chair out of her way so that it toppled and fell to the floor. When she reached the fireplace she stood there for a moment, gazing at the fire, which was burning as hot as the white hot anger welling up inside her. _My friends,_ she thought,_ They turned me into a cold blooded murderer! My friends!_

Without thinking, she picked up a round, heavy glass ball from the mantle and hurled it into the fireplace as hard as she could. The glass ball shattered on impact with the stone hearth, the hundreds of shards shining brightly as they reflected the flickering flames. _How could they do this to me! _she thought, throwing out her arm and clearing the top of her desk in one sweep. The crystals, clocks, and two daggers fell onto the floor, but some of the books and papers landed in the fireplace, where they instantly caught on fire. _I trusted them!_ she howled silently, _I trusted them and they betrayed me! They betrayed me!_

She kicked another chair, which fell backwards into one of the bookshelves, making several books fall to the floor, accompanied by various scrolls, clocks, and hourglasses. The clocks and hourglasses shattered when they hit the floor, the broken glass, sand, and gears spilling across the wood floor. Ignoring them, and feeling completely exhausted, Erica collapsed to her knees in front of the fireplace, sobbing.

Author Notes: So, how about that plot twist? What do you think she's going to choose to do? Make me extremely happy and review please!


	13. The Shadow Man

Chapter Thirteen: The Shadow Man

Disclaimer: Hellboy characters do not belong to me. However, Erica and the Shadow Man are mine.

Author's Notes: Thanks for the wonderful reviews Scorponis, Blu Embyr, Psycho Llama, and DarkCloudRider! I think they might have been the best ever, if that is even possible when so many people leave great and inspiring reviews! As always, any ideas and suggestions are still welcome. BTW, I'm only expecting to write three to four more chapters after this, making a grand total of sixteen or seventeen! But never fear, I'm already sketching out a plot line for a sequel, and I would love any ideas you have concerning that. Anyways, in this chapter Erica comes face to face with Kroenen and the mystery of the Shadow Man is explained at last! Everyone review, pretty please!

**Scorponis:** Yay! A new reviewer! I love your name, very original! In this chapter you'll get to see some of what happens when she faces Kroenen, but there'll be more of that in the next chapter too.

**Blu Embyr:** Thanks! I did try to make it as realistic as possible.

**Psycho Llama: **Best chapter? They do seem to keep getting better as I go, probably because the loose ends are being brought together. So here's you're chapter, I wrote it quickly as you requested! This one's a little intense too, I can't wait to hear what you think of it!

**DarkCloudRider: **The Shadow Man is finally explained in this chapter! And don't worry, I will finish my story! I hope you didn't hurt your laptop, or your toe, when you dropped it!

"Man is a being with free will; therefore, each man is potentially good or evil, and it's up to him and only him (through his reasoning mind) to decide which he wants to be."—Ayn Rand

_Night of October 4, 1944_

Kroenen glanced at one of the many clocks on his desk, restlessly tapping his fingers on the chessboard. Erica was late. _She should have been here by now_, he thought. After waiting for a few more minutes, he finally stood up and left his study to find Erica. _I'll check her study first, _he thought, _that's most likely where she'll be._

As he walked down the corridor that led to her study there was a sudden crash that sounded like glass being broken. That sound was shortly followed by a surprising racket of breaking things and thuds that grew louder as he approached the closed door of Erica's study. Just as he reached the door of her study, the thuds and crashes coming from inside ceased abruptly.

Kroenen cautiously knocked on the door. A moment later the door opened and Erica appeared in the doorway, looking extremely, almost sickly pale. For a moment Kroenen was very taken aback.

"Are you alright?" he asked, concerned.

"What? Oh, yes, perfectly fine. Do you want something?" she asked.

He didn't believe that everything was as alright as she said, but he answered her question.

"I was wondering why you were so late."

"Late? For what?" she asked.

"To play chess. Ilsa told me you were going to come."

For a moment she looked at him blankly, like she had completely forgotten about it. He watched her closely, wondering what was wrong, she almost never forgot things.

"Oh, that's right, I did say I was coming. I'm sorry—I—I don't think I'm coming tonight."

"Why not?" he asked, suddenly feeling disappointed. He had been looking forward to the chess game all evening.

"Well…" Erica said, "It's not like you don't know what the outcome will be."

"Yes, I've always wondered how you can lose when you could use your visions to see what I'm going to do."

"There's no point in cheating against you in chess—if I won it would be an empty victory."

"True, but you still haven't said why you're not coming." he said.

And that was when he caught a glimpse of her study through the half open door. Her study was in complete disarray: papers, books, and broken glass were all over the floor; the objects that were usually on her desk were scattered across the room, several chairs had been overturned; and a variety of other things had been smashed or hurled into the fireplace.

"What have you been doing?" Kroenen asked, feeling slightly stunned.

He pushed past her and into her study, and Erica followed him.

"Oh, I've just been… redecorating." she said, her voice sounding a little strained.

"Redecorating." he repeated, unconvinced.

Kroenen walked over to stand in front of Erica, broken glass crunching under his boots as he went. This close to her he could see that beyond being pale, her face was tearstained and her eyes slightly pink from crying. In all the years he had known her, he couldn't remember her ever looking like this. In fact, she looked like she was sick. Erica, feeling his close scrutiny of her appearance, averted her eyes and looked down at the floor. Kroenen caught her chin and turned her face so she was looking up at him.

"What's wrong? You're so pale… Are you ill?"

"I—I think I just need to lay down for a while." she muttered.

That was when he noticed something different about her, other then the slightly alarming fact that she looked ill. It wasn't something he could give a name to—in fact, he wasn't entirely sure what it was about her that was different.

"Something's…different about you," he said, looking at her intently, "Is anything troubling you?"

"No. No, everything's… fine."

He cocked his head, studying her. It suddenly occurred to him that she looked similar to the way she had looked when they had first started teaching her to control her visions.

"What have you foreseen?" he asked.

"I haven't foreseen anything." she said, her grey eyes looking right at him.

Kroenen felt skeptical that she was telling the truth. "Very well," he said at last, "You may tell me in your own good time."

He dropped his hand from her face and she backed away a little.

"I'm tired, I'm going to sleep," she said, and then started towards the open doorway.

Kroenen followed her out, shutting the door of her study behind him. As she started down the corridor, he called after her.

"Goodnight."

She turned and looked at him, with what was obviously a forced smile on her face.

"Goodnight," she replied.

Kroenen watched her intently as she turned and continued walking down the corridor, heading for her room. When she disappeared around the corner, he returned to his study where he sank into the chair at his desk. He glanced at the chessboard set up on his desk, all the pieces standing in their neat ordered rows. Carelessly, he put his feet up on his desk, knocking some of the chess pieces over so that they rolled around on the desk.

_I hope she's not sick_, he thought, _October ninth isn't far away, and we'll need her help. We can't afford for her to get sick. _

But on the other hand, there was also a chance that she wasn't sick, and that she had had a disturbing vision that had upset her.

_Perhaps it's something about our plans for October ninth, _he thought, _Yes, that must be it. It must be about a problem with our plans. Why else would she be so upset?_ But as soon as he thought that, another thought invaded his mind. If she had had a disturbing vision about their plans, why hadn't she said anything, and why hadn't she shown him her vision? Or better yet, why hadn't she rushed off to show Grigory?

Another unpleasant thought snuck up on him. If her vision had upset her, why had she tried to pretend that everything was alright? Could she possibly have seen something so terrible that she couldn't bear to face or discuss it?

The only way to answer those questions was to pursue the matter and ask her again if she had had a vision. But he would give her some time to calm down first, after all, if it was so distressing, she probably wouldn't want to share it with them right away.

_And if she doesn't share it with you?_ murmured a voice in the back of his head.

Kroenen shook his head to clear it. Why would he even think that? The very reason Erica was part of the Thule Occult Society was because she had sworn to show her visions to them. _I'll ask her tomorrow_, he decided, _after we're finished packing up the portal generator for transportation._

XXXXX

Erica shut and locked the door of her bedroom behind her and then threw herself down on her bed, wiping her hand across her tearstained cheek.

It had been obvious that Kroenen hadn't believed her— hadn't believed the reason she gave for her study being such a wreck, hadn't believed that everything was alright, hadn't believed that she hadn't had a vision. She knew he was just concerned about her, but now that he knew something was wrong, she knew he'd be after her until he found out what was bothering her. She sighed and put her hands up to her throat, pulling her silver necklace out from under her shirt and looking at it. Kroenen had been so close to her in her study that she had been afraid he would see her cross necklace. She wasn't quite sure _why_ she was afraid, she just knew she _was_, as if in some distant way she knew there would be severe consequences if someone found her wearing it. Fortunately the shirt and black jacket she wore as part of her uniform had hidden the necklace from view.

On impulse, Erica stood up from the bed and went into the bathroom where she splashed cold water on her face. She glanced at her reflection in the mirror. _Kroenen was right, _she thought, looking at her pale face, _I do look like I'm sick._

She wandered back into her room and curled up on her bed, wrapping one of the soft, crimson blankets around her for comfort. By now her wave of emotion had given way to rational thinking and she needed time to sort out what had happened and what she would do.

Images from her vision kept running through her head. Actually, she wasn't sure if it really _had_ been a vision, because she could completely control those. And then there was the matter of why it—whatever it was— had come at all. But did it really matter how or why? In her heart she knew that everything she had seen and heard was true. She also knew that there was no excuse for what she had done in the past. She was a murderer in every sense of the word. True, she had killed some people in self defense, but if she hadn't been a murderer, if she hadn't been helping the Occult to destroy the world, those people wouldn't have come after her to begin with.

_I want to do something,_ anything _to prevent more bloodshed,_ she thought,_ and if that's what the portal generator will cause, then I'll have to do something to stop it._

She froze, realizing what she had just done. She was actually contemplating _betraying_ the Occult and the Nazis! And for someone in her position, it was an act of treason. She ran a hand through her long brown hair, staring up at the red canopy above her bed.

She knew the price the Ogdru Jahad demanded for a person's betrayal, and it was a dreadful price indeed. Erica had dealt with traitors before, like when she had poisoned Yohann Vasser, but what would be in store for her if she was caught would be far worse than the fate that had befallen him. Oh no, they wouldn't simply kill her. She had a very high rank in the Thule Occult Society and that meant that meant if she was caught, her life wouldn't simply be forfeit within the few seconds it took to shoot or stab her—no—if she was caught she would be ceremoniously sacrificed to the Ogdru Jahad, her blood spilled to appease their wrath. She knew it was a terrible way to die.

She shuddered and pulled the blanket closer around her, recalling what she had read in one of the most dangerous books in Kroenen's study. She could still recall the exact words, they were burned into her brain as if by a red hot branding iron: _"…should a high ranking member betray the Occult, or be caught having the intentions of doing so, then it will fall upon the Head of the Thule Occult Society to appease the Ogdru Jahad by offering a sacrifice of the traitor's blood, and the traitor will be completely destroyed..."_

Erica knew what that meant. As if it weren't bad enough to be ceremoniously killed, complete destruction went beyond death. If the ritual was preformed properly, the traitor's soul would be destroyed by the Ogdru Jahad. Needless to say, there had not been many high ranking members to betray the Occult, and the last betrayal was so long ago that no one could remember it clearly. Erica grimaced as the words from the book repeated themselves in her head. _"…it will fall upon the Head of the Thule Occult Society to appease the Ogdru Jahad by offering a sacrifice of the traitor's blood, and the traitor will be completely destroyed..."_

But that meant— assuming that she chose to betray the Occult and the Nazis—that meant _Kroenen_ would be forced to sacrifice her if she was caught. Inwardly she squirmed at the thought. _It would break his heart, _she thought, _No, it _will _break his heart, even if I'm not caught. He just won't believe that I'd really do it._

She knew that if she betrayed the Occult and the Nazis it would also mean betraying her friends. _I don't want to fight Ilsa and Kroenen!_ she thought. No matter how angry she was or had been with them, that didn't mean they were her _enemies_. They were her friends! She didn't want to fight against them, but she also wanted to do what was right— She held her aching head in her hands. How could she betray Kroenen, he was like a father to her! He was her teacher and her dearest friend. Ilsa was her closest friend, second only to Kroenen! And Grigory— how could she even _think_ of betraying her Master? How could she even consider betraying the Ogdru Jahad? The Occult?

She shook her head to clear her thoughts. She didn't have a choice, even friendship couldn't get in the way of doing what was right. She would have to betray her friends if she wanted to stop the Ogdru Jahad from being released. And Ilsa and Kroenen were her friends, so they would understand, wouldn't they? _Stop being so naive!_ She scolded herself, _Of course they won't understand! By the very act of trying to stop them I'm fighting against them, and if you're not with the Occult, then you're against it!_

So that meant that Ilsa and Kroenen would fight her, and if necessary, kill her. For her part, Erica wasn't sure if she could force herself to hurt them. _If they come after me, as they probably will, I won't harm them anymore than absolutely necessary_, she decided. Wait—did that mean she was deciding to betray the Occult and the Nazis? No, no, she wouldn't do that! —would she? _I don't know which side I'm on anymore_, she thought, sighing. But she knew she would have to make a decision, she had to choose one or the other, she had to choose to either save or abandon her soul.

It came to this: She couldn't let the world be destroyed, and really, she had just betrayed the Occult by simply thinking about it. _I might as well go all out,_ she thought, _God, this is going to tear my heart in two...Alright, yes, I'll do it. _ _It's more than worth risking my life to save my soul and the world._

She felt a sense of relief at having reached a decision, but just as quickly the tension returned. She would have to lay her plans carefully to prevent being caught. She had many advantages, she just had to figure out the best way to use them. First of all, she needed to figure out what she could do.

She knew she couldn't sabotage the portal generator before it was transported because it would be too hard to get into it by herself. The thick metal plates that covered the generator's exterior were so heavy that it took two people to lift them. She would never be able to do it by herself, and she couldn't trust anyone else to help her. Besides, anyone else would wonder what she was doing to the generator when it was supposed to be finished. So that meant she would have to wait until they arrived at the island off the coast of Scotland. But with all the Nazi soldiers and Generals that would be there, she wouldn't have a chance to sabotage the machine. That left her only one option, she would have to do something when the portal generator was actually _running_.

_That cuts it close_, she thought with a grimace, _There'll be no room for error, I'll only have one chance before it's too late._

So she would have to destroy the portal generator while it was running. She had to destroy it because once the portal generator was started up, there was no safe way to just suddenly shut it down. After all, it wasn't _designed_ to be stopped.

So then, how to destroy it?

She knew how the portal generator worked because she had helped to build it, which also meant that she knew the machine's weaknesses. But even with knowing how it worked, she wasn't sure she could destroy the portal generator without killing herself in the process. All the ways she could think of to destroy the generator had a ninety nine percent chance of making it explode violently, and the explosion would probably kill her because she'd have to be so close to the generator do something.

In the end, she decided that one of the best ways to destroy the portal generator was by setting off explosives, since when the generator was running it was particularly vulnerable to severe damage from external explosions. The other alternative was to shove something between the moving levers or spinning rings, which also happened to be an excellent way to lose a limb.

Beyond that, getting near the generator would be a problem. Once everyone realized what she was up to, she would have to keep the Nazi soldiers _and_ Kroenen away from her, which wouldn't be an easy task.

_Still_, she thought, _I have to try._

Of course, if she was shot and killed before she got anywhere near the generator, that wouldn't do anyone any good. She was instantly visited by a mental image of more than one hundred Nazi soldiers with their guns all pointed at her. She winced.

_That won't work._ _I need someone or something to distract the Nazi soldiers, _she thought _I wish I had someone to help me, I can't do this alone_. But who could she turn to for help? No one involved with the Occult or the Nazis would help her, or if they did, it was only so they could find out enough to turn her in, and anyone outside of the Occult or the Nazis would be so scared of her that they'd probably shoot her on sight.

_What I need,_ she thought bitterly, _is an army._

Then something seemed to click in her head, like puzzle pieces coming together. She knew where she could get an army: The Allied Forces. They would do almost _anything_ if they thought it would give them the upper hand in the war against the Nazis.

_I'll write a letter to the President of the United States_, she thought, _writing a letter is the only way, all the telegraph lines in and out of Nazi occupied countries are being monitored. I just hope one letter will be enough— I don't have time to be sending letters all over Europe._ _Besides, that would be more dangerous, word could get out and warn the Occult and the Nazis that there's a traitor in their midst, which would make it very hard for me to do anything to stop them._

Of course, she couldn't let the President know who she really was, she'd have to make up an identity. Otherwise, not only would the President recognize her name and suspect it of being a trap, his paranormal advisors would probably burn her letter to ash and then bury the ashes, fearing there might be a curse on the letter. Oh yes, she knew all about the President's paranormal advisors.

She stood up and crossed her room to a bookshelf that contained the overflow of books from her study. She selected a thick book, one that she knew was full of information on the Occult's enemies, and flipped through it until she came to the page she was looking for. It had photographs and information on all of the President's paranormal advisors, who in the past had occasionally made nuisances of themselves. She grinned as she realized the President's paranormal advisors probably had books on the Occult members, which meant she would have to be very careful when she wrote the letter so that she wouldn't give her true identity away. She skimmed the page, searching for the person most likely to be consulted when her letter arrived. There he was: Professor Trevor Broom. _He'll know my letter is real if I provide the right details,_ she thought as she closed the book.

Getting the letter to America would be a slight problem, due to the short amount of time left, but she knew she could handle it. She would be creative, she wouldn't send it by the postal service. Anyway, she knew the German postal service wouldn't deliver a letter to America, especially if it was marked 'urgent'.

Erica put the book back on the shelf and then lay down on her bed. Tomorrow she would sort out how to get the letter to America. _I just hope the troops come,_ she thought, _I need the Allied troops to fight the Nazis, or I won't have a good chance of stopping the portal generator and surviving. _She sighed, she didn't want to die—and wouldn't if she could help it.

Then something occurred to her. The worst weapon that could be used against her wasn't guns or bombs. Grigory would be there, which meant he could use her true name against her, stopping her in her tracks. _I hope that doesn't happen, _she thought, _but if it does, as long as the Allied troops come, one of them could still stop the generator._

She closed her eyes and buried her face in one of the crimson pillows on her bed.

Betray the Occult.

She still couldn't believe she was even _thinking _about it. Wouldn't Rasputin know the moment the thought crossed her mind? How could she think it, let alone even seriously considering acting on it? It would be suicide, the sort of thought one would entertain if they no longer wanted to see tomorrow.

_But can you live now that you know what you've really done? _Asked a voice in her head, _Can you live without repenting? Can you live knowing your soul will burn in Hell for eternity?_

_No, _she thought with a sigh, _no I can't._

_Then you know what you must do._

_Yes. Yes I do. God give me courage to find a way to stop this, _she thought.

It was as simple as that. With that answer, with that decision, she had made the first move. Yes, she might be caught. Yes, she might die. But she would do everything in her power to prevent the Ogdru Jahad from being released. Just like when she played chess with Kroenen, she had made the first move.

She could only pray that when the Occult and the Nazis made their move, that they didn't have a clue as to what she was planning.

XXXXX

Erica hadn't even known she was tired, but she realized she must have fallen asleep, because she suddenly found herself sitting on the edge of the fountain in the dead garden. And lounging against the edge of the fountain was the Shadow Man, who appeared to be watching her intently, despite his obvious lack of eyes.

"What are you staring at?" she said, a little snappishly.

"Now, now, _Acire_, don't be rude," he said, "I'm just waiting for you to move one of your chess pieces—that is, if you even can."

Erica looked down. In front of her was a chessboard, and just like the last time she had been here, she only had a few pawns, and knight, and her king, all of which seemed to be blocked by the Shadow man's obsidian pieces.

"Finding it hard to make a move?" he asked, somehow managing to smirk.

"Why must people always gloat over the fact that they're winning?" Erica asked, scowling, "Now be quiet, I'm trying to think."

"Think? Oh yes, if I were you, I _would_ be careful. After all, this is your last chance to turn this game around, and if you don't make the right move, I will immediately be the winner. And my prize will be your most precious treasure."

"Please be quiet." she asked again.

"Oh, I don't think you really want that. You see, I was just about to warn you that your time is nearly up."

With these words he gestured to the hourglass. The bottom was nearly full of black sand, while the top had less than four inches of white sand left, which was rapidly running downwards. Erica stared at the hourglass. It was right in the back of her mind, she almost knew what the hourglass signified—the Shadow Man spoke, interrupting her thoughts.

"And I warn you, you must make a move before the time runs out, or I will automatically win. And don't protest, for surely you must know that in the most dire of situations, in the most desperate of times, if someone fails to make a decision then their side will lose."

Erica stared hopelessly at the pieces on the chessboard, slowly turning the Shadow Man's words over in her mind and not really paying attention to the pieces on the board. What was the point? It wasn't like she could do anything. _In the most dire of situations,_ _in the most desperate of times, if someone fails to make a decision then their side will lose_— Realization dawned on her. It was like her vision in the attic, hadn't the voice said '_If you fail to act_ _all will be lost'_? What if all it took for her to win was to simply look at the board with the intention of acting instead of giving up hope?

With renewed hope her eyes darted back to the chessboard, considering and searching out any moves that she might have missed. And there it was, the only move open to her! The Shadow Man was so confident in his ability to win that he had completely overlooked it, leaving one route to his king totally unguarded by his chess pieces. As soon as she spotted the move she took it, moving her marble knight to the square beside the obsidian king.

"Checkmate!" she declared triumphantly, knowing she had won.

"What? But—But how? It—It's impossible!" the Shadow Man spluttered, genuinely astonished.

And for the first time ever, Erica thought she detected a note of panic in his voice. But the Shadow Man quickly recovered himself.

"No matter," he declared, gesturing dismissively, "You may have won a game, but you haven't completely outwitted me. Your most precious treasure will still be mine! Your time has nearly run out!"

"Time? Time for what? I thought the hourglass was timing our game!" she exclaimed.

"Yes, it was and still is timing our game," the Shadow Man said, "but not just the chess game, it's been timing our game ever since it began, and that is farther back then you can even remember. And now, if you look, your hourglass is dangerously empty!"

He looked at the hourglass triumphantly, and then gave a strangled cry, making Erica's eyes fly over to the hourglass. The stream of falling sand was frozen!

"No!" the Shadow Man yelled.

_Frozen? But how? And why did the Shadow Man say 'your hourglass'? Does that mean that somehow it's mine?_ She thought. And then she remembered something the Shadow Man had said about the hourglass: '_It is of_ great importance _to you, and that is all that I will say, other than this: Beware of the moment when the white sand runs out!'_

_Beware of the moment when the sand runs out. But it's not running anymore, why did it stop? What happened right before we noticed the sand had frozen? I know! I won the chess game because I decided to act, just like the voice in my vision told me I would have to do if I wanted to save my soul from evil—_Then she had the answer_. It's not just any hourglass, _she realized_, the hourglass represents me! The white sand, which is almost gone, and has been running out as I've fallen further towards evil, represents the part of me that is good, and the black sand is the part of me that is evil. And if the white sand ever runs out completely, then he wins my most valuable treasure… Wait, that sounds familiar…I know! My most valuable treasure is my soul! He's trying to take my soul!_

Having reached this startling realization, her grey eyes flicked over to where the Shadow Man was staring up at the hourglass and mumbling exclamations under his breath.

_But why did the sand freeze? I know! By winning the game, by doing something to fight the Shadow Man, I've done something that opposes my evil actions in the past. And that made the hourglass freeze because I've reached a place where I have to decide either to lose or save my soul. I have to _do_ something if I want to save myself from evil._

And as she thought that last sentence, she knew what she had to do. Erica looked at the Shadow Man, who was still staring at her, and then at the hourglass while muttering something inaudible.

"Do you remember a long time ago, when you told me that while we were here, in this garden, that we would call each other what we were?"

At her words the Shadow Man abruptly ceased talking to himself and became very still.

"Yes, what of it?" he said, his voice suddenly dangerous.

"You said that I could call you the Shadow Man. But very recently you also told me that I could call you what you are if I knew any of your other names."

"And do you?"

"Yes."

"Do you really," he said, his voice a deadly hiss.

"I do. I know what your true name is, just as you know mine. When you told me to call you the Shadow Man, the name only described your appearance, it wasn't what you really were, just as the name Erica isn't what I truly am."

"You're stalling," the Shadow Man said, thought he didn't hold much conviction in his voice, "If you really know my true name, tell me what it is."

"Your true name," Erica said, taking a deep breath, "Is Evil."

The Shadow Man staggered as if she had slapped him. Then he drew himself up and stalked over to her in a very threatening manner. He stopped less than two feet away from her.

"Clever girl," he hissed menacingly, looming threateningly over her, "You may know what I am, but what do you intend to do about it?"

"Something I should have done a long time ago," she replied, "I'm rejecting you."

"What did you say?" the Shadow Man said in disbelief.

"I said I'm rejecting you. I don't want anything to do with you! I won't serve you, I won't be a part of you! I'm going to fight against you with everything I have!"

As she spoke her voice grew progressively louder until her words were ringing loudly within the confines of the dead garden. In that moment, Erica felt more confident in herself than she ever had before. At her words, the shadows that made up the Shadow Man's face contorted in rage.

"How _dare_ you! How _dare_ you defy me!" he yelled, moving forward so that their faces were only inches apart, "Servants should be humble—servants that defy their Masters deserve to be punished!"

"You're not my Master!" she declared.

"_Acire_! How dare you! Bow to me _Acire_!"

Nothing happened. Erica continued to stand there, her hands on her hips. It was hard to tell who was the most surprised, the Shadow Man, or Erica, who had been dreading the moment he would use her true name against her. The Shadow Man looked at her, the shadows of his face contorting into an expression of fear. Then slowly, ever so slowly, he looked towards the huge hourglass floating in midair. Erica followed his gaze.

Both of them stood still, staring. The stream of sand was no longer frozen, but it was no longer pouring downwards either. It had reversed direction. The black sand was flowing up into the top of the hourglass, turning white as it went. Seeing this, the Shadow Man let loose a terrible shriek of rage as he turned on her.

"You snatch your soul back from me a few days from when it was to finally be mine!" he howled, "How dare you defy me!"

"Oh, I dare," she said triumphantly, staring unflinchingly up into his face, "Many people have fought and are fighting against you! And so will I! The future isn't written in stone, I can still change it! I _will_ fight against you!"

"You wouldn't!" the Shadow Man hissed, "You wouldn't betray the Occult!"

"Yes, I would. I have one chance to fix my mistakes, and I will!"

"They'll kill you," he hissed, "Look."

He gestured to the surface of the black water in the basin of the fountain. Cautiously, she looked down at the water. Instead of seeing her own reflection, she saw lots of people standing in a very familiar black obsidian hall. Most of the people seemed to be spectators, as they stood in a crowd together. A short distance from the front of the crowd were four figures and a rectangular slab of black stone. Three of the figures were standing around the stone, but the forth was laying on top of it, secured in place by thick, wrought iron chains around her arms and legs. Erica gasped, recognizing the chained figure was herself! She watched in horror as a figure that was obviously Kroenen raised a long, silver bladed knife, and then viciously stabbed her. Erica turned away, no longer able to watch what was going on. The Shadow Man laughed harshly, a laugh that was completely mirthless.

"See what they'll do to you?" he hissed, his shadowy face smirking, "You can't tell me that it doesn't frighten you. If you stay with the Occult, you'll never have to worry about this happening to you."

"Some ideals are worth dying for," she said, "I would rather die than lose my soul to you!"

"We'll see about that," he said quietly, slowly backing away from her, "You may have rejected me for now, but you'll be back, I know you'll be back. You can never be completely rid of me—I am a part of you, as I am of every human being."

"I'll resist you."

"We shall see," he whispered, melting into the shadows beneath the twisted trees, "We shall see. Even if you don't come to me, _I_ will come to _you_. Either way you can be sure that I'll be back."

"Is that a threat?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.

"No. It's a promise." he hissed.

Then he disappeared into the shadows, leaving her alone in the courtyard. Erica looked up at the hourglass. The black sand was turning white as it rushed upwards to the top of the hourglass. Then the hourglass began to fade, and she looked around in confusion. The entire garden was fading and dissolving into a white mist. Then it was gone, and the next thing she knew, she was awake, staring up at the crimson canopy above her bed. Erica smiled, her dreams were free of the Shadow Man at last!

But she knew the hardest part was still to come.

Author's Notes: So, what do you think about the Shadow Man? Did his true identity surprise you? Do her dreams involving him make more sense now? Also, you may have noticed that I decided to answer a question I've had for a while about just who it was that tipped off the Allied forces to show up! Make me extremely happy and review please!


	14. A Night Ride

Chapter Fourteen: A Night Ride

Disclaimer: Hellboy characters do not belong to me. However, Erica and the stable boys are mine.

Author's Notes: Thanks for the reviews Blu Embyr, Psycho Llama, Scorponis, and DarkCloudRider! I feel so loved! (Weeps tears of joy!) Ideas and suggestions are still welcome! Well, let me tell you, this is certainly an…unusual chapter. I threw in a little humor, General Von Krupt (that's the guy with the dark scarlet glasses from the movie) makes an appearance, mostly a frowning one, and an argument breaks out when Erica has difficulty concealing her true emotions. "Nein" is German for no, "Ja" is yes, "Guten tag" is hello, and "Danke" is thank you. Everyone review, pretty please!

**Blu Embyr:** The Shadow Man as a date? O.O Scary thought. And as you'll see, Erica isn't exactly being friendly to Kroenen and Ilsa.

**Psycho Llama:** You're welcome! And yeah, poor Kroenen. : (

**Scorponis:** Great minds think alike! I was working on this chapter when I got your review, and go figure, this chapter is about how she sends the letter!

**DarkCloudRider:** Awww! Thanks so much! And sorry about your toe. : )

"Anything's possible if you've got enough nerve."—J. K. Rowling

_The morning of October 5, 1944_

Erica stood at the doors of her balcony, watching the sunrise. Behind her, a clock hanging on her bedroom wall chimed the hour and she glanced at it, knowing she'd have to go downstairs soon. Otherwise she knew Kroenen would come looking for her.

She turned away from the doors and picked up four very sharp blades that were lying on a nearby table. She slid the two baton swords into the sheaths strapped to her legs, and she put the long throwing daggers into the sheaths hidden in her trench coat's sleeves. _You can never be too prepared, _she thought, knowing that if her intentions of betrayal were discovered, it would be a good idea to be armed so she could defend herself. She knew she was walking on a razor's edge. If she strayed just a little, if she made _one_ mistake, and it would all be over and very bloody.

_I'm so nervous,_ she thought, absentmindedly putting her hand to her neck and toying with her cross necklace, _It's going to be the first time I've faced Kroenen and Ilsa since making my decision to betray the Nazis and the Occult. God, I hope I don't mess this up_. _This is going to take all my acting skills, to try to pretend I'm with them when inside I'm planning to betray them. _She sighed as she headed for the door. As she went she tucked her cross necklace into her shirt and readjusted the necklace Kroenen had given to her so that it was showing. _The Shadow Man was right about one thing, _she thought_, I am playing a dangerous game._

She walked through the corridors and then down the stairs, pausing to glance through the door to the dining hall. The servants were already clearing the breakfast dishes away, which meant Ilsa was already in the lab, helping to pack the portal generator. Erica sighed, she should have known everyone would get an early start today, what with getting the portal generator ready for transport. She turned away and walked through the corridors, heading for the enormous lab the portal generator was in, trying to suppress the feeling of butterflies in her stomach. When she reached the door to the lab, she stood outside the door for a moment to get herself ready to face the various Occult and Nazi officials that would be there to assist in moving the portal generator. Her heart was beating very fast and she took a few deep breaths to calm herself. _It's now or never_, she thought, and then she opened the door.

As soon as she stepped through the door, she found herself in the middle of a stream of people all rushing back and forth. The majority of the people present were Nazi soldiers in full uniform, and the others mostly consisted of Nazi technicians and scientists. It was clear the Nazi soldiers had arrived only a few minutes ago, because some of them were still coming in though the huge door located in one wall of the lab. This door was more like a garage door and led directly outside and onto the mansion's driveway. The door was also big enough to back a large truck through, which was exactly what they were intending to do in a few minutes. But for now the door was open and a constant stream of Nazi soldiers were coming in, carrying crates, tools, and packing materials which they busily stacked into neat, ordered piles.

In the middle of all the hustle and bustle was Kroenen, who was standing by the portal generator, overseeing the soldiers work. Beside Kroenen stood Ilsa, and she was talking to a severe-looking Nazi general wearing glasses with round, dark scarlet lenses. Erica had to admit the scene was quite impressive, with all the uniformed soldiery and Kroenen, Ilsa, and the General looking very imposing while the enormous mass of the portal generator loomed up behind them. Erica was suddenly glad that she had gone to the trouble of wearing her full military uniform, which was basically a copy of Kroenen's. She was also glad that she had taken the precaution of bringing the baton swords and daggers with her.

"The Angel of Death," she heard a man in the crowd whisper.

Immediately the Nazi soldiers around Erica looked up and saw her. Their response was instantaneous—though they continued working, they all backed away from her as if she carried the plague. Erica pretended to be stern and scowled at the soldiers, with the result that they backed further away from her, looking very pale. Then she headed towards Kroenen and Ilsa, her boots tapping on the floor and the ends of her long trench coat sweeping after her as she went. Kroenen saw her approaching and beckoned her over. At his familiar, friendly gesture, Erica felt an almost overwhelming pang of guilt, but carefully kept her face neutral.

"This, as I'm sure you remember, is General Von Krupt," said Ilsa, introducing the General.

"Guten tag," Erica said politely.

Von Krupt merely nodded in response. Just as Erica remembered from the last time she had seen him, the acrid General had a frown on his face and seemed to disapprove of everything he laid eyes on. Von Krupt pulled out a gold pocket watch and glanced at it.

"Good," he said sternly in strongly accented English, "Everything is going according to schedule. At least, it is _now_."

Erica sensed Kroenen stiffen beside her, and she herself bristled at the General's comment and the judgmental tone in his voice.

"And what, General, is _that_ supposed to mean?" Erica said, her voice tense.

"You took five years in constructing the generator, far longer than we expected," he said harshly.

"Do you have _any_ _idea_ how much work went into this project?" Erica shot back, startled at the feeling in her voice, "The work could easily have taken much longer. But no, we put more time and effort than we could spare into the portal generator's construction."

The General frowned deeply but he remained silent and turned away from them, striding away and shouting orders to the soldiers. Kroenen and Ilsa looked at Erica approvingly.

Erica mentally slapped herself. _I have to get control of myself!_ she thought, _Imagine that, defending the Ragnarok Project when I'm planning to betray the Occult and destroy their plans! _Then she reconsidered. _No, it would have been expected of me to be angry about what Von Krupt said. Still, I can't believe I spoke with so much feeling—I hate being torn in two like this! And it's only going to get worse._

"I see you're feeling better this morning." Kroenen said.

"Ja," Erica answered, wrenching herself out of her depressing thoughts.

"Good. We're going to move the portal generator onto the back of a truck," he told her, "but first we have to put it in a crate."

Erica nodded, watching as the Nazi soldiers surged around them, following the General's orders. Fortunately, the soldiers gave Erica, Kroenen, and Ilsa a wide berth, knowing that it would be very stupid and very dangerous to irritate them. Not only did the three's infamous reputation precede them, but the soldiers had clearly seen the various weapons Kroenen was carrying, as well as the baton swords strapped to Erica's legs. But of everyone present in the lab, Erica was the only one that knew she was no longer any danger to anyone unless she was threatened. She wouldn't just randomly kill someone for a minor infraction as she had in the past. _I won't be a murderer, _she thought, _not if I can help it._

As Kroenen, Ilsa, and Erica watched, the soldiers responded to Von Krupt's orders and moved out of the way as a large truck backed up through the enormous door that led outside. When the truck had come all the way through, the driver cut the engines and Von Krupt appeared again, striding towards Kroenen, Ilsa, and Erica, who were still standing by the portal generator. The General was still frowning, but now Erica suspected that at least part of his frown was due to what she had said to him.

"Would you instruct the soldiers on how to pack the generator?" Von Krupt asked in a clipped tone.

"Ja," Kroenen answered.

Kroenen stepped forward and shouted orders to the soldiers, punctuating his commands with gestures. Within moments the soldiers had divided into several groups, and each group picked up what looked like a small wooden wall, but was actually a side of the huge crate that would protect the portal generator during its transportation. The portal generator was already sitting on what would be the bottom of the crate, so with a lot of sweating and cursing the soldiers moved the crate's sides into place and then bolted them together. After that was done, it was a relatively simple matter to use a pulley to lift the top of the crate into place. As the soldiers swarmed around the enormous crate putting the finishing touches on it, Erica, Ilsa, and Kroenen walked around the crate, inspecting the soldier's work.

Once they were satisfied with the crate, the Erica and Ilsa helped the soldiers fasten chains around it. Then they used a winch to slowly pull the crate up a ramp and onto the bed of the truck while the soldiers pushed the crate from behind. It was hard work, the generator's massive weight making the task both dangerous and difficult. Kroenen and Von Krupt stood on high platforms on either side of the truck, shouting to the soldiers when the crate wandered too close to the edge of the ramp. For a long while the lab was full of the clank of chains and the shouting of orders and the scrape of the bottom of the crate as it moved forward, inch by inch. It seemed it would never end, but after what felt like hours, the crate containing the portal generator settled into the back of the truck with a satisfying thud and the rattle of chains.

The soldiers gave a ragged, tired cheer, Ilsa smiled, and even Von Krupt's frown disappeared for a moment. Erica watched, a smile on her face, but she couldn't help but feel happy and dismayed at the same time. She had always taken pride in a job well done, but she was dismayed that the portal generator had been moved without it being damaged and without anyone being killed or injured in the process.

She watched the Nazi soldiers as they took more chains and secured the huge crate to the truck, and then pulled a thick canvas cover over the crate and tied it down to protect and hide what they were moving. The truck would be left in the lab until the morning of October 9 for safekeeping.

Erica looked at the small silver clock on her necklace and was astonished to see that packing the portal generator had actually taken several hours, it was now half past one. When she looked up again, she saw Ilsa coming towards her.

"Erica, we've decided that the soldiers will stay to pack the spotlights and some of the less fragile equipment. The rest we'll leave to ourselves and the technicians and scientists."

Erica nodded in response and headed towards the group of technicians and scientists at the other side of the lab, who were already starting to box up some of the equipment. The technicians looked at her apprehensively as she approached, but she ignored them and picked up a special crate and sat it on a table. Then she gestured to one of the scientists to help her move the enormous glove-like contraption that Grigory would use to open the portal. The next few hours were spent in a flurry of activity and the time flew by unnoticed. The Nazi soldiers were put to the task of packing spotlights and other less vital equipment like cables and tools, and even Kroenen, Ilsa, and the General helped with the work. But as Erica worked she couldn't help but feel apprehensive, it was very weird and very uncomfortable to be surrounded by people who were now her enemies, and who would kill her the moment they knew that she was planning to betray them. And every time she saw Kroenen or Ilsa she felt like she was walking on very, very thin ice. Fortunately she didn't have to worry about Grigory, she hadn't seen him for days, and she guessed that he was preparing for October ninth just like everyone else.

Slightly after five o'clock in the afternoon, Kroenen stopped working. A large chunk of the work had been completed. _I wonder if I should talk to Erica about her vision, _he wondered. He gazed over the people around him, looking for Erica. He finally spotted her on the other side of the lab, working with some of the technicians. She seemed to be in a pretty good mood, so he wove his way through the crowd towards her, intending to talk to her.

Erica glanced up from the cables she was packing and saw Kroenen coming towards her. Her emotions surged into a panic, and Erica fought to keep herself under control. _He knows!_ A voice in her head yelled. _No, he can't,_ she thought, _it's impossible, he couldn't know. He probably just wants to talk about what happened last night. _But that thought didn't stop her from feeling very, very anxious as Kroenen came closer and stopped in front of her. Erica forced herself to look calm and straightened up from the box she was packing.

"Yes?" she asked, brushing a strand of hair out of her face.

"Erica, what did you foresee last night that upset you?"

His voice was level and very quiet, but it cut through the noise around them like ice. Erica felt her stomach clench in fear, and at the same time wished that she could tell him what she was planning, wished she could convince him to help her—but she knew she couldn't.

"I haven't foreseen anything." she answered.

He looked at her again, gazing intently at her. Erica found this very disquieting but she forced herself to stand still, making sure that she kept her arms at her sides where she could quickly reach her baton swords, should the need arise.

"Why are you lying to me?" Kroenen asked in a level voice, sounding both curious and hurt.

"I'm not," she said, "Why would I ever lie to you?"

"I don't know, but I know that you are." he said softly.

He came closer so that they were only a few inches apart. Erica forced herself to stand still, despite the fact that inside she was trembling in fear. _I hate this, _she thought, feeling angry and sad all at once_, I hate being afraid of my closest friends! I hate having a _reason_ to fear them!_

Kroenen was so close to Erica that she could hear the soft ticking of the clockwork inside him. Kroenen looked at her._ Why would she lie to me?_ he wondered. That was when he saw an expression of fear and sorrow flit across her face. Then it was gone and she stared back at him, perfectly composed. Behind his mask, his lidless blue eyes searched her face for any further trace of emotion. _Why would she be afraid? _Kroenen thought. It was while he was searching her face that his question from the night before was answered: it had suddenly occurred to him what was different about her. He could see his reflection in her grey eyes! It was a small thing that not many would notice, and it had been absent for so long that he had forgotten about it until this moment when it made its startling reappearance.

"I can see myself in your eyes." he said in astonishment.

He saw another look of fear cross Erica's face as she turned to face a shiny piece of metal lying nearby. As she gazed at her reflection in the metal she discovered that Kroenen was right! Her grey eyes no longer resembled the bottomless, reflection-less pits that they had been for the past six years. She didn't have any idea about what she should say, so she shrugged and then tried to change the subject.

"The soldiers have finished packing most of the thick cables we'll need—"

"Erica, don't try to change the subject," Kroenen said softly. Then he continued, determined to get her to admit to having a vision, "I know you had a vision."

"Nein, I didn't."

"If you didn't have a vision, then why were you so upset last night?" Kroenen persisted.

"I wasn't upset, I told you I wasn't feeling well." Erica said. Keeping her emotions under control was getting very difficult, and some of the anger she felt seeped out into her voice.

"You're still lying, my Angel of Death." Kroenen said with a sigh. He reached towards her and to his surprise, she recoiled from him. Kroenen wasn't the only one that was surprised, Erica thought she had a better grip on her emotions than to react in a way that would show she was afraid. Kroenen paused for a moment, and then he reached towards her again. This time she stood still.

"Why are you being so evasive?" Kroenen asked, as he gently touched her shoulder.

She half-smiled at the gesture of trust but the smile quickly faded from her face as she felt Kroenen reaching out to her mind. He was trying to discover what she was hiding and why she was lying to him! Alarmed that he might find out about her plan to betray the Occult, Erica hastily threw up a mental barrier and jerked away from him, knowing that if he was touching someone that it was easier for him to get into their mind.

"Stay _out_ of my head!" Erica yelled angrily.

Hearing Erica's raised, angry voice, all work in the lab paused and the soldiers and scientists turned to stare at Kroenen and Erica. Kroenen and Erica didn't notice.

Kroenen was obviously bewildered by Erica's reaction to him.

"You've never minded before." he observed, watching her carefully.

"But you've always asked me first! You've never just intruded on my thoughts," she said, and then added as an afterthought, "Don't try that again!"

"Your vision has really bothered you that much? You know I should see it if it's affected your behavior."

Erica tried to think of a response, but her thoughts were reeling. Her conflicting emotions were making it hard to think straight— Erica suddenly realized that Kroenen was trying to get into her mind again, in her confusion her mental barrier had collapsed. She threw up another barrier and violently pushed Kroenen's presence out of her mind, desperately hoping that he hadn't seen anything.

"I told you to stop that!" she shouted, "I don't want you messing around with my mind! Is that so hard to understand?"

Kroenen looked very perturbed. "Erica, come with me," he said, "Something isn't right—"

"No! Just—Leave me alone!"

Erica couldn't take it anymore, she turned and strode away angrily. Kroenen let her go, gazing after her until the door of the lab slammed behind her. That was when Kroenen suddenly realized all of the Nazi technicians, scientists, and soldiers had stopped working and were staring at him.

"Get back to work." Kroenen ordered the soldiers. He forced his voice to stay level, but everyone present could hear the steely edge in his words.

The soldiers quickly returned to their work and Kroenen turned and approached Ilsa and General Von Krupt. Ilsa looked stunned, but Von Krupt simply frowned, his scarlet colored glasses flashing in the light.

"Ilsa, would you come with me for a moment? We need to talk." Kroenen said.

Ilsa nodded and Kroenen turned to address the General.

"General," said Kroenen curtly, "we will return shortly."

He didn't wait for the General to answer and turned away, heading for the door. Ilsa followed him quietly as he led the way to his study.

As soon as they were inside and the door was closed, Kroenen walked past the bookshelves and over to the fireplace. Now that it was autumn and it was starting to get cold, there was always a fire burning in the fireplace. But even the roaring fire couldn't banish the chilling feeling Kroenen had. He leaned against the mantel, trying to collect his thoughts as Ilsa sat down in an armchair facing the fireplace.

"Kroenen? What is it?" Ilsa asked.

Her ice blue eyes looked concerned. Clearly what had happened in the lab had upset her as well.

"I'm worried," Kroenen replied, "About Erica."

"About Erica?" Ilsa repeated, "Why?"

"Last night she didn't show up to play chess, so I went to look for her. I found her in her study. There was broken glass and books all over the floor and some of the furniture had been overturned. Erica was so pale that I thought she was sick. Anyway, after a little while I asked her what she had been doing, and she wouldn't tell me, but I knew she was upset. And I could tell she had had a vision, but when I asked her about it she completely denied that she had foreseen anything. I decided she just needed a little time to calm down, so I left it at that and decided to ask her today. And I did, just a few minutes ago."

"And?" Ilsa asked.

Kroenen sighed, his mask turning the sigh into a harsh, rasping sound. "She denied it again. But that's not all. I could see myself in her eyes, and when I pointed this out to her she tried to change the subject. Even _I_ don't know what the reflection means. Anyway, shortly after that I tried to touch her and she backed away from me as if she was afraid. I was worried about why she was acting that way—"

"So when she wouldn't tell you anything or show you her vision voluntarily, you tried to get into her mind." Ilsa said, interrupting him.

"Yes. But as you saw, she wouldn't allow me to do that either," he said. He decided not to tell Ilsa what he had seen in Erica's mind, as he wasn't sure what it meant. He would sort that out later. He sighed deeply, "I'm worried that something is wrong with her."

"Maybe she is sick," said Ilsa, "Or maybe she's just tense because of everything that has to be done so that we're ready for October ninth. There's only a short amount of time left and a lot to do. That's enough to make anyone snappish and unfriendly."

"Maybe." Kroenen said. But he doubted it.

"If she does anything else unusual we'll talk to Grigory," Ilsa said reassuringly, "Now we have to get back to the lab, Von Krupt will be wondering where we are."

Kroenen nodded and followed her out of his study, deep in thought.

He still couldn't believe that Erica had denied that she had had a vision. And he _knew_ that she had, he could see it in the way she acted, the way her eyes looked, never mind the mysterious reappearance of the reflection in her eyes. And beyond that, he couldn't believe she would lie to him in the first place. Kroenen knew she had been lying to him, no matter how hard she had tried to conceal it. What could this mean? Was she ill, perhaps? Or just stressed? He clung desperately to those ideas. _Yes, that has to be it,_ he thought, _that's why she refused, she's just not feeling well. And Ilsa is right, being stressed could be why Erica yelled at me_.

But something sinister in the back of his mind was whispering something contrary to his thoughts. It was trying to get him to listen to it as it whispered about why Erica might refuse to show him one of her visions, but Kroenen refused to listen, the thought _never_ entering his mind that the cause of Erica's strange behavior was that she had decided to betray the Thule Society and the Nazis.

XXXXX

Erica strode angrily through the mansion's corridors, gradually slowing to a walk. She had the vague idea that she was probably going to deeply regret her outburst later, but really, there had been no getting around it. Last night she had known that Kroenen was concerned about her, and that he would talk to her again. _And because of what just happened in the lab, he'll be even more worried about me,_ she thought, _I just hope he doesn't talk to Grigory about me, and he probably will if he catches me doing anything else odd._

She considered that thought and shivered. _If Grigory gets involved_— _no, I won't think about that!_ She thought, her mind replaying the gory images that the Shadow Man had shown her in the fountain. She knew that she wouldn't be able to lie to Grigory for long, and with his powers it wouldn't take him much time to figure out what she was up to.

Erica suddenly realized what she had to do: she would have to send the letter _today_, before Kroenen or anyone else got more concerned about her. But how to send it? She couldn't use the postal system or send a telegram because of the chance of it being intercepted. So that meant she would have to take the message somewhere herself. _It would be best to take the letter to the nearest Allied Force's military base, _she thought, as she turned down one of the halls leading to her study, _they're always sending news to each other, and especially to America. But then there's the problem of how I'm going to get out of Germany and back before morning. If I'm not, someone is sure to notice that I'm gone. _Then she had it. She would use a transportation spell from one of the books in her study! _Of course, if I do that, Kroenen or one of the others will feel the enormous amount of magic being used, and they'll know that I'm the one using it. But if I ride a few miles away from the mansion at least they won't be able to tell what I'm using the magic for, _she thought, knowing that her plan involved taking a lot of risks._ When I get back they're sure to ask me why I was using magic. I guess I'll just have to come up with an excuse. That's settled then. I'll leave as soon as it's dark._

By this time Erica had reached her study and opened the door. Her study was exactly the way she had left it last night: books, papers, and clocks were scattered all over the floor, and there was broken glass scattered among the logs and glowing embers in the fireplace. Erica closed and locked the door behind her before crossing to the fireplace and coaxing the embers into flames. She absentmindedly set a chair upright and, ignoring the rest of the mess around her, she went over to the nearest wall covered in bookshelves, searching the titles for the one she was looking for. When she didn't find the book on that wall of bookshelves, she moved on to the next, using a library ladder to get to the books on the very top shelves. And that's where she found the small book bound in red leather. Quickly she flipped through the pages and read over the transportation spell. She smiled. It was a relatively simple spell and required very few ingredients, all of which would be easy to find.

Erica closed the book and climbed down the library ladder, sitting the book down on her desk as she searched the floor for her writing supplies, which she had knocked off her desk the night before. At length she located some parchment paper, an envelope, a calligraphy pen, and a bottle of red ink.

_I'll turn the tables on the Occult,_ she thought, _I'll give the Allied soldiers information on Nazi troops instead of the other way around!_

Then she sat down at her desk and began writing, forcing down any feelings of guilt or remorse that tried to interrupt her.

When the clock chimed six o'clock Erica barely looked up from her letter and didn't even bother to go to down to dinner. She knew that this would make Ilsa and Kroenen even more concerned, but she also knew that she _had_ to finish the letter. On the other hand, Erica was hungry because she had missed both breakfast and lunch, so she stepped out into the hall and asked a passing servant to bring a snack up to her study. Erica then went back to writing until the servant returned with a sandwich. She thanked the servant, who turned pale and hurried away, afraid that Erica's politeness could only mean that she had some sort of hidden purpose in mind.

Erica ate the sandwich and continued writing, occasionally stopping to look over her work. Besides simply informing the President of the United States of the plan to release the Ogdru Jahad on October 9th, she also had to keep her identity a secret and provided enough details about the Ragnarok Project so that Professor Trevor Broom would know that her letter wasn't a hoax. She was also putting clues in her letter so that if she was captured by the Allied soldiers on October 9th that she could prove she sent the letter and, hence, prove that she was actually on their side. _But even that might not save me,_ she thought, knowing the Allied Forces had a fondness for executing people for war crimes. It was quite a paradox: she didn't want to give away her identity, but she wanted the Allied Forces to be able to identify that she wrote the letter after October 9th, assuming that she survived. Needless to say, with such a difficult objective, the first few letters she had started had been unsatisfactory. As a precaution, Erica burned these letters in the fireplace and made sure they were completely reduced to ash.

By the time she was finished her letter, a clock she had tossed in the corner the previous evening was chiming eight o'clock. She looked toward the window. It was almost dark outside. _Perfect,_ she thought, before she turned back to her letter. It was best for her to leave at night, it would be harder for people to see her. Erica signed her letter and then read over it one last time. She nodded in satisfaction, folded up her letter and then slipped it into an envelope, sealing it with a red wax seal.

Erica put the letter and the small red book in one of her pants pockets and then she quickly wrote a short note on another piece of paper, telling anyone that came into her study that she had gone riding. She left the note propped up on her desk and then left her study, purposefully walking through the corridors of the mansion she knew would be deserted. Erica wanted to avoid being seen, that way no one would know that she hadn't already left to go riding.

When she reached her bedroom, she closed and locked the door behind her. Then she opened her closet and took out a black satchel and a black cloak with a hood. She put these on her bed and then went over to her bookshelf and knelt down so she could unlock the small wooden chest sitting on the bottom shelf. She opened the lid, and gazed down at a bundle of candles and several small containers full of ingredients for spells. She took the book out of her pocket and flipped to the page she needed, quickly reading down the list of ingredients. As she read down the list she took each ingredient out of the wooden box. _Chalk, _she thought, _a small mirror, five candles…_She double checked to see that she had everything, and then she put the containers, the candles, and the red book into her satchel.

She glanced at a mirror, quickly evaluating the changes she would have to make to her appearance so she would blend in with the night. _I have to pull my hair back, _she thought, pushing a long piece of brown hair out of her face. She picked up a brush and put her hair in a ponytail using a black ribbon. She looked back at the mirror and felt a pang of guilt. _Kroenen gave that ribbon to me,_ she thought, _and here I am, wearing it on a mission with the purpose of betraying him. _At the thought of betraying her friends she felt an almost crippling pang of guilt and tears came to her eyes. _No, I can't cry now,_ she thought, blinking back her tears, _it's too late for that, I've already decided._

_But it's not too late, _a cold voice in her head said, _you haven't done anything yet. All you have to do is burn the letter and act like none of this ever happened. Your friends will never know—_

_No, _she insisted, _I have to do this. I'm the only one that can do it._

Erica took off her trench coat and then slipped on the black cloak, but for now she left the hood down. She turned to face the mirror, eyeing her appearance critically. Her hooded cloak, black military uniform and black knee-high boots would help her blend in with the darkness. Erica knew that if she was caught by the Allied soldiers it wasn't the best idea to be wearing a Nazi military uniform, but it couldn't be helped. She had nothing else to wear besides evening gowns, which weren't exactly appropriate clothing for gallivanting around the countryside.

_Alright, _she thought, _Now I'll need weapons in case I run into trouble._

She decided that the baton swords strapped to her legs and the daggers in her sleeves would probably be sufficient, until she remembered that Kroenen had scolded her several times for not taking her handgun everywhere she went. Even before that enemy spy had shot at her and wounded her, Kroenen had been worried about her safety, because though she had a good aim with a gun, Erica usually preferred hand to hand combat. Not many of her adversaries were so inclined, and Kroenen insisted that she carry a handgun to deal with particularly aggressive opponents. Erica felt another stab of guilt. _Kroenen taught me well and now I'm turning those skills against him_, she thought as she picked up the loaded handgun sitting on her dresser. She put it in the pocket of her jacket and then glanced at the swords and knives scattered throughout her room. _My parents would be appalled if they could see all these weapons sitting out in my bedroom, _she thought. She slipped the satchel's strap over her head so that it lay diagonally across her chest and then glanced at her locked bedroom door. _I should unlock it, _she decided, _otherwise someone that thinks I've gone riding will wonder why I've locked myself out of my room. _

Erica unlocked her bedroom door, hoping that she would be back in an hour or two. Any longer than that and people would start wondering where she was. Then she opened the the doors to her balcony and walked outside, carefully closing the doors behind her. _I'll climb down the columns supporting the balcony and go directly to the stables instead of going the long way through the mansion, _she thought as she crossed the balcony to the railing, _It's faster this way plus no one will see me or ask questions. _

She looked up at the sky. It was a moonless, starless night due to cloud cover, and that made it very dark. And although that meant she would have to be very careful while riding, Erica was thankful for the darkness, because it would make it easier for her to sneak into the military base.

Erica looked down at the courtyard below, and seeing no one, she sat on the railing and swung her legs over the railing so that she was standing on the narrow ledge. She couldn't help but look down at the courtyard, and though she wasn't afraid of heights, she was very aware that if she fell from this height onto the cobblestones below that she would break several bones in her body. Erica turned around so the she was facing the railing, and holding onto the railing for support, she slowly lowered herself over the edge of the balcony until she was hanging from the edge of the balcony by her fingers.

_I wish I had Kroenen's talent for climbing vertical surfaces,_ she thought as she tried to wrap her legs around one of the smooth stone columns that supported the balcony. Once her legs were gripping the column tightly, she let go of the balcony and grabbed the column. She stayed there for a moment, her cheek pressed against the cold stone, trying to calm her nerves. Once she was sure that she wasn't going to fall and break her neck, she slid down the column and landed silently on the ground. She readjusted the satchel strap lying across her chest and then walked towards the stables, the cold autumn wind whipping though her cloak and making her shiver.

When she reached the stables she lit a lantern to give her some light. The lantern threw a soft, flickering glow over the stable yard as she walked to the small cabin where the two stable boys stayed. She hesitated for a minute, and then knocked on the door. From inside the cabin she heard some scuffling as the two boys woke up, and then the door was opened by a blond haired boy that was half asleep—at least, he was half asleep until his sleepy eyes fell on Erica, who in the faint, flickering light of the lantern, resembled a ghost dressed in black.

"Good God!" the boy yelled, his blue eyes wide in fright.

At his cry, the other boy appeared beside him in the doorway and simply stood there staring at her, before he too yelled.

"Shh!" Erica ordered, "It's just me, Erica Schwarz."

This announcement was met with slightly more enthusiasm, but not much. Instead of yelling, the remaining blood drained from the boys' faces, giving her the impression that even if she hadn't meant to that she had thoroughly succeeded in scaring the boys half to death.

"It's alright," Erica said gently, "I just want you to saddle my horse."

The boys eyed her fearfully and slowly edged through the door of the cabin and along the wall, making sure not to turn their backs on her. When they reached the stable door, they quickly dashed through it. Erica had to stifle a laugh at the boys' antics, and then she followed the boys through the stable door. To her surprise, she nearly collided with the boys as she walked through the doorway. The boys backed away from her, their blue eyes wide.

"Calm down, you don't have to be afraid of me." Erica said kindly.

If anything, instead of reassuring the boys, they looked even more frightened and dashed away to fetch a black saddle and bridle for her horse. She watched them go. _This doesn't bode well. Even when I'm being nice people are afraid of me_, she thought, remembering the servant's reaction when she had thanked him for the sandwich. _Oh well. I guess they have good reason to be afraid of me, considering what I've done in the past. _She flinched as she remembered the carnage she had seen in her vision up in the attic.

While she was waiting for the stable boys to come back she put the lantern down and went over to her horse's stall and ran her fingers through her horse's black mane. A few moments later the stable boys returned and quickly saddled her black horse, occasionally yawning sleepily.

Erica watched them. One of the reasons she had woken the boys was because she knew that unlike Kroenen or Ilsa, the boys wouldn't ask her where she was going, and they wouldn't bother to wonder about it either, unlike the other servants. After all, it wasn't unusual for her to go riding in the middle of the night. And though the stable boys were probably concerned that her horse might trip in the darkness and break its leg, they were too scared to tell her. The other reason she had awoken the boys was because the stable hands would be useful witnesses if Kroenen was wondering if she had actually gone riding.

Once the stable boys were finished, she told them to go back to sleep. When she heard the door of the boys' cabin shut behind them, she looked around, making sure the stable yard was still empty. Since it was, she picked up the lantern and then grabbed her horse's reins. Then she walked beside her horse, leading it into the courtyard, its hooves softly clip-clopping on the cobblestones. Erica was overjoyed that so far everything had gone according to plan.

She could feel the letter in her pants pocket and realized that her plan actually had a good chance of working. And that was fortunate, because she knew that the consequences would be terrible if she were caught with the letter in her pocket. _Compared to all the dangerous magical objects I've handled in the past,_ she thought,_ this letter is by far the most perilous_. Suddenly, her horse snorted in alarm. Erica continued walking, but she looked back at her horse and murmured comfortingly to calm it—

THUD!

She stumbled backwards and fell, dropping the lantern with a crash and landing on the hard cobblestones directly in front of her horse. Fortunately her horse was well trained and instead of rearing and bolting, it simply snorted and whinnied to show its displeasure. Erica looked up to see what she had run into. It was Kroenen. Her heart stopped beating in her chest, and she felt like she was going to die. _Oh no, _she thought, _With the exception of Grigory, Kroenen is the _worst_ person I could have run into at a time like this. I pray he doesn't know what I'm doing. _At that thought an expression of fear crossed her face as the frightening images from the fountain replayed in her mind. Fortunately the lantern had gone out when she dropped it and the darkness of the night hid her face, allowing her to calm down and compose herself.

_Now I know what was scaring my horse,_ she thought wryly, _it was Kroenen._

"You should be more careful," Kroenen said, his mask tilted down to look at her lying at his feet.

He offered her his gloved hand and in response she took his hand and he helped her to her feet. As soon as she was standing, Erica let go of Kroenen's hand and brushed herself off with one hand while her other grabbed her horse's reins.

"Danke," Erica said, looking up at him and thinking that he looked very frightening in the darkness.

"You're welcome," Kroenen said, and then glanced at her horse. "Where are you going?"

"Nowhere in particular. I'm just going riding." she said, which was half true.

"Don't you think it's a little dark for that?" he asked.

She shrugged, pretending to be casual to hide her fear. Because he was so close to her she was unusually aware of the letter in her pocket. "I'll be alright," she answered, "I'm a good rider. Why? Were you thinking of going riding too?"

"No, no, of course not. You know how much horses dislike me," he said, shooting a glance at her black horse, who was snorting angrily at him. "I think it must be my clockwork, or perhaps they smell blood and death on me."

Kroenen looked back at her and paused for a moment before he continued.

"Actually, I came to apologize for my behavior earlier," he said, "I should have asked before I intruded on your thoughts. I overstepped my boundaries. Forgive me."

"It's not your fault," she said, once again overwhelmed by guilt. Then she realized that she needed to explain what she'd said. For lack of a better idea, she told him a slightly twisted version of the truth. "I've just been a little off lately because I'm so stressed about the portal generator. I shouldn't have yelled at you. Forgive me."

As she asked him to forgive her, she startled herself by how much emotion crept out into her voice. _I just hope you _can_ forgive me, _Erica thought, knowing Kroenen didn't know that she was _really_ asking him to forgive her for betraying him, _I only hope you'll forgive me when you find out what I've done._

Kroenen gazed at her through the darkness and nodded slowly in response to her words. Erica saw the glass eyes on his mask glitter faintly in the darkness. She felt tears come to her eyes and silently choked back a sob, turning away from him and swinging herself up onto her horse's back. She picked up the reins and turned her horse towards the open gates that led out of the stable yard.

"Erica, wait." Kroenen called.

She turned in her saddle and looked down at him as he came closer. As he approached, Erica's horse stamped to show its discomfort.

"What?" she asked.

"Here." Kroenen said, and held out something to her.

She reached down and took it, bringing it closer to her face so she could see it in the darkness. It was a black rose with a crimson ribbon tied in a bow around its stem. Erica clasped the rose to her chest, taking in the rose's sweet scent.

"Thank you." she whispered.

She felt tears coming to her eyes and knew she couldn't stay there with him any longer. She tucked the rose into the breast pocket of her jacket and then rode through the gates of the mansion, her cloak billowing out behind her.

Kroenen watched Erica ride off and disappear into the night. Within a few moments, the thunder of hooves faded into the distance and it was eerily silent in the courtyard. The cold autumn wind blew through the trees and whispered through piles of fallen leaves, making them skitter across the stable yard's cobblestones. Impervious to the cold, Kroenen continued to stand in the middle of the courtyard, gazing through the gates and into the darkness that had swallowed Erica. In his hand he held a scrap of parchment paper.

He glanced down at it, his lidless blue eyes just able to read the words written on it in red ink. It was the note Erica had left on her desk. When she hadn't come down to dinner, Kroenen had gone to look for her, worried that she was still angry at him or that that this was yet another unusual turn of her behavior. He had gone directly to her study, which was still a mess. She, however, hadn't been there. He had looked around the room, hoping to discover a note or something that would tell him where she was. Instead, his eyes had fallen on the fireplace, which had been burning brightly. That meant that she had left her study not long ago. But as he looked at the fire, he had noticed something else: an unusual amount of ash lying on the edge of the fireplace. He had studied it for a moment, realizing that the ash was all that remained of several sheets of parchment paper.

_Why was she burning parchment paper? _Kroenen wondered, interrupting his memory. But he couldn't think of an answer, so he allowed his mind to go back to her study. At some point while wandering around in her study he had found the note on her desk, read it, and rushed off to find her, hoping he could catch up to her before she left.

He still didn't know what had made him apologize to her, or why he had given her that rose. _Force of habit, I suppose,_ he thought. Of course, what she had said about being stressed had confirmed what Ilsa had said, but he still wasn't sure if that completely accounted for her behavior. And then there had been that odd tone in her voice when she had asked him to forgive her…

He glanced down at the lantern Erica had dropped. It was a twisted, shattered ruin, its glass panes reduced to sharp fragments lying on the ground, glimmering slightly in the darkness. As he looked at the ruined lantern, he couldn't help but feel that the shattered glass resembled his thoughts: in the last twenty four hours Erica had done things that she had never done in the past six years, and her behavior was bothering him.

He looked back at the gate that Erica had ridden through. _I wonder what possessed her to go riding on such a dark night?_ He thought. But he wasn't quite sure that he wanted to know the answer.

Kroenen started walking back to the mansion, still holding the piece of parchment paper. He would wait in his study for her to return. And while he was waiting, there would be plenty of time for him to sort through the thoughts he had found in Erica's mind.

Author's Notes: Ha ha! Cliffhanger! Well, sort of. Hehe, I loved writing about the cute little stable boys, I thought some comic relief was needed. And don't worry, in the next chapter there'll be more about how she sends the letter, and that rose Kroenen gave her will be showing up again. Chapter fifteen will have lots of action, after all, it's a requirement that every covert operation must be fraught with peril! BTW, do you all like the quotes I've been putting at the beginning of the chapters recently? Pwease review!


	15. A Traitor’s Message

Chapter Fifteen: A Traitor's Message

Disclaimer: Hellboy characters do not belong to me. However, Erica, Heinrich, Sergeant Alexandre Barret, and Alfred Drummond are mine.

Author's Notes: Thanks for the reviews Blu Embyr, Scorponis, DarkCloudRider, and Psycho Llama! I'm happy to hear that you like the quotes! Ideas and suggestions are still welcome! A special thanks goes to DarkCloudRider for sending me a wonderful idea that I decided to use in this chapter. Apologies everyone for the long wait for the chapter, but believe me, it's worth it. In this chapter Erica sneaks into a military base belonging to the Allied Forces with the intent of somehow getting her letter to America. Also, some new characters are introduced. Just so everyone knows "Ja" is yes, "Nein" is no, "Guten tag" is hello, and "Auf wiedersehen" is goodbye. Everyone review, pretty please!

**Blu Embyr: **Hehe! Yes, that cliffhanger probably is going to kill you, cuz you won't find out how much Kroenen knows until chapter sixteen!

**Scorponis: **Thanks for the review! It gave me ideas for chapter sixteen. And thanks for putting up with the two weeks between the chapters, I just hope you weren't holding your breath that whole time: )

**DarkCloudRider:** I made you cry? (sniffle) I had no idea! Out of curiosity, was it the end of the chapter or something else that made you cry? I must admit that making you cry wasn't my intention, but I _was_ trying to show how Erica and others are being affected, specifically emotionally. Also, I _loved_ the idea you sent me and thought it was so good that I decided to use it! (sends Kroenen plushie) By the way, which story were you working on? I'd love to read it!

**Psycho Llama:** Thanks, I watched the beginning of the movie to make sure I portrayed Von Krupt correctly! Hehe, and as for that cliffhanger, it won't be resolved until next chapter!

"Hope begins in the dark, the stubborn hope that if you just show up and try to do the right thing, the dawn will come. You wait and watch and work: You don't give up."— Anne Lamott

_The night of October 5, 1944_

Erica's black horse plunged through the darkness, the thunder of his hooves as loud as Erica's rapidly beating heart. She knew she was racing against time—there were only three full days before October 9th, and her letter had to reach its destination before then or it would be too late. Because of this she rode as fast as she dared through the darkness, racing over hills and along dirt paths before splashing through a river to gallop through seemingly endless fields of crops. But at last she could see the edge of the fields, and beyond the field she could see where the forest began: in the darkness the tall trees made a darker blot against the solid black sky. Within moments her horse had left the fields behind and was dashing through the forest, careening around trees and leaping logs. It was a frightening but exhilarating experience for Erica. It was so dark that she could barely see the tree trunks ahead of her, and she realized that it was a miracle her horse hadn't tripped and broken a leg. _We have to slow down! _she thought as a thin, whippy branch hit her in the face. Erica pulled back on the reins, gradually slowing her horse down to a canter and then to a walk.

Now that they had slowed down, Erica looked around at her surroundings as her horse steadily walked forward. The trees made it much darker in the forest than it had been in the open fields, and the thick tree trunks were only identifiable because they were more solid than the shadows around her. The forest was silent except for the rustle of the dry leaves overhead and the crunch of twigs under her horse's hooves. The silence was slightly eerie, but Erica welcomed it, knowing that the silence meant that there was no one nearby to interfere with her. She had ridden two or three miles away from the mansion, knowing the miles in between would prevent Ilsa, Kroenen—and hopefully Grigory—from knowing that she was using a transportation spell.

Erica drew her cloak closer to her. The autumn nights in Germany were cold and despite the darkness she could see the faint white fog drifting from her mouth as she breathed. And as she breathed she could smell the faint, sweet smell of a blossoming rose. Erica glanced down at the breast pocket of her jacket where the black rose that Kroenen had given her was peeking over the edge of the pocket. _It was probably the last one on the rosebush, _she thought, smiling a little sadly, _it's getting too cold for them now. Kroenen knew how much I love roses, otherwise he wouldn't have brought me the last one. _

She glanced up and saw a brighter patch of forest ahead. It was a clearing in the trees, just what she'd been looking for. Immediately, Erica brought her horse to a stop and slid out of the saddle. To keep her horse from wandering away, she tied the reins to a low tree branch. The cold made the task difficult, her numb fingers fumbled as they tried to tie the knots.

"Where are my gloves when I need them?" she muttered as she finished tying the knots.

She dug through her pockets and found a pair of tight black leather gloves. _Perfect, _she thought as she put them on, _Now my hands won't be so cold but I'll still be able to handle a weapon._ That done, she walked towards the brighter patch of forest. The trees thinned out and then ended abruptly in a clearing that was floored with bare earth and dry leaves. Erica smiled, the clearing was just right. Swiftly, she knelt down on the ground and took the red book out of her satchel. She flipped to the page she needed and consulted the diagram before she took a piece of chalk and drew a large circle on the ground. She drew a smaller circle inside the large one, and then began filling the space between the two circles with magic symbols copied directly from the book. As she drew the symbols she could feel dark power starting to collect around her, surging through the dark night to surround her. Erica shuddered, the presence of black magic had always made her skin crawl. Before she had decided to betray the Occult she had always enjoyed the sensation, but now it only made her uncomfortable. _I wish I didn't have to use black magic to do this, _she thought, _it makes me feel so unclean._

When she was finished drawing the symbols, Erica took the five candles from her satchel and placed them at regular intervals around the outside of the large circle. She lit the candles using tinder and flint. But instead of burning brightly, the flames turned black, and instead of shedding light, they shed shadow and made the night even darker. Erica could feel the power steadily growing around her as she took a mirror from her satchel and placed it in the center of the circle. According to the red book the mirror would help to bring her back to Germany, literally reflecting her back the way she came. _But how long will I have? _She wondered as she consulted the red book. Because of the darkness she had to squint to read the words in the book. They said that she would have exactly forty-five minutes to carry out her mission. As long as she made it back to the spot she was originally transported to within the forty five minutes, she would be transported _back_ to Germany. Of course, that also meant that she would have to explain the two enormous blasts of magic to Kroenen, who, despite the miles between himself and Erica, was bound to notice that she was using magic. _I'll have to come up with a good excuse, _she thought as she stepped over the chalk lines and into the center of the smallest circle. As she stepped, she had the sensation that a bucket of ice water had been dumped over her head. She shuddered and gasped, but forced herself to concentrate on her destination.

_I want to go to a forest near the closest military base belonging to the Allied Forces._

As she thought the words, the bone freezing cold disappeared and Erica suddenly found herself standing beside a pine tree in a forest. She looked around to get her bearings, but there wasn't much to see. Despite the distance she had traveled it was just as dark here as it had been in Germany, and just as cold. A chill wind blew through the trees, bringing with it the smell of fallen leaves and the crisp scent of an autumn evening. Suddenly, through the trees Erica spotted the faint yellow glow of lights. _They must be from the military base, _she thought as she wove through the trees, heading for the lights. She walked cautiously through the darkness, being careful not to trip over rocks or protruding tree roots. She pushed a few thin branches out of her way and then winced as a thorn bush caught on her sleeve. She disentangled herself and then continued forward, the edge of her black cloak whispering against the dry leaves lying on the forest floor.

Soon the trees thinned out and she found herself standing among the thin saplings and tangled bushes on the fringe of the forest. She slipped behind a tree and peered out at the area ahead, assessing the situation.

Just beyond the point where the forest ended there was a field of tall grass. This field continued for as far as she could see in the darkness. However, the field was interrupted by a high chain link fence that surrounded what was clearly a military base. From her position it was clear that the military base itself was divided into two areas: one area that was an airfield with airplanes, and the other area full of tents and small, rough, cabin like buildings for the soldiers. Erica's grey eyes flicked back to concentrate on the fence. _I'll have to overcome that obstacle before I can figure out how to deliver my letter,_ she thought.

The chain link fence that surrounded the military base was about ten feet high and had barbed wire strung across the top. In addition there were tall wooden watchtowers located in the corners and midpoints of the fence. Erica gazed at the watchtowers, noticing that each tower had a spotlight in it which the guards were turning so that the beam of light slowly swept over the ground just outside the chain link fence. She could just barely see the silhouettes of the guards in the towers, they were casually leaning against the railing at the top of the towers.

_Good, _she thought, smiling, _that means they're bored and probably not paying much attention. And from what I know from dealing with Nazi soldiers, these soldiers are probably thinking about the hot dinner waiting for them when they get off duty and not about watching for intruders._

Then she saw movement along the inside of the fence: a uniformed soldier was patrolling the perimeter of the fence. _Alright, _she thought, _I'll have to evade the watchtowers and the spotlights. And then I'll have to climb the fence while avoiding the soldiers patrolling the perimeter of the fence. But how do I avoid the spotlights?_ She watched the slowly sweeping spotlights for a few moments and eventually picked up on a weakness. The spotlights didn't light up the entire fence, the fence was so long that at the midpoints between towers there was a place that the spotlights couldn't reach, and because of this, it remained dark. _So that's how I'll climb the fence_, she thought, _I'll climb it where that dark spot is. And with my training, it'll be easy enough to avoid the soldier patrolling the perimeter of the fence._ Erica instantly felt a pang of regret as she remembered Kroenen teaching her how to disappear and hide in the shadows. Erica forced the memory from her mind, she couldn't think about that, she had to do this now. She took a deep breath to calm her nerves and fingered the silver cross hanging from her necklace.

_Wish me luck, _she thought, her fingers gently brushing the black rose in her breast pocket, _if I screw this up I'll never get a chance to fix things—I'll probably be dead._

Content with her plan of action, Erica pulled up the hood on black cloak to hide her face and then left the cover of the forest. The wind was blowing across the open field and it was even colder than it had been in the forest. _I'm glad I wore this cloak, _she thought, shivering slightly. Erica snuck across the open field towards the lights of the military base, slinking through the tall, knee high grass. When she was as close to the fence as she could get without the spotlights hitting her, she ducked down in the tall grass and waited for the spotlights to swing away from her. She crouched down in the grass, feeling nervous and very alert to everything going on around her. Being nervous was very understandable, she was about to sneak into what was basically an enemy camp. And despite the fact that she was now on their side, the Allied soldiers didn't know it, and she knew if they saw her that they would kill her on sight.

_At least that's a slightly better fate than being sacrificed by the Occult and then having my soul destroyed, _she thought.

The grass swayed in the wind, tickling her face as it brushed her skin. But Erica didn't move; she waited tensely as the spotlights began to drift away from her hiding spot. She would have run to the fence if it wasn't for the soldier patrolling the perimeter, but he was still a little too close for comfort. _Come on, move it, _she silently urged him, _come on, just a little farther._ The second she judged the soldier was far enough away she stood up and silently ran over to the chain link fence, where she immediately started climbing. For the second time that evening she was glad that she was wearing gloves, they protected her hands from the cold metal wires as she scaled the fence with all the ease of a spider.

When she reached the top of the chain link fence she was confronted with the barbed wire. She thought for a moment, and then, hanging onto the fence with her left hand, she put her hand into her satchel and rummaged through it until she found a pair of wire cutters. She smiled as she used them to snip through the barbed wire.

_I'm lucky that this satchel has a simple tool kit in it, _she thought as she put the wire cutters back in her satchel, _I'd hate having to climb over barbed wire._

Before she started down the other side of the fence, Erica looked around. Fortunately the spotlights were still aimed in the opposite direction, and the soldier patrolling the fence was out of sight, having disappeared among the tents that filled the soldiers' side of the military base. _All clear, _she thought as she swung herself over the top of the fence and onto the other side.

She had climbed halfway down the fence when, out of the corner of her eye, she saw another solider patrolling the fence—and he was coming straight toward her! Erica knew that he was far enough away that he couldn't see her yet, but she also knew that she would have to hurry to prevent being caught. Quickly, she let go of the fence and dropped the last five feet to the ground, landing cat-like on all fours. She looked at the soldier—he was getting steadily closer. Erica reached up and made sure that the hood of her cloak was drawn down over her face and then, keeping to the shadows, she moved away from the fence and darted around the side of the closest building. She pressed her back against the wooden side of the building and listened as the soldier's footsteps came closer. She held her breath as the footsteps approached her hiding place, and it seemed like an eternity before the footsteps passed her and faded into the distance.

Erica sighed in relief and then examined her surroundings. She was in the soldiers' section of the camp, which was just as well. She would have to find out how to get her letter onto one of the airplanes that carried the mail, and to find that out, she would have to be around people. She knew this was dangerous, as being around people meant that she had a higher risk of being seen or caught. But it was the only way to find out how to send her letter, so she would have to take the risk. With that end in mind, she walked towards the rest of the buildings and tents, sticking to the shadows and keeping an eye out for soldiers. She walked as quietly as she could, the heels of her boots making a soft tapping sound against the bare ground. Through the darkness she saw two soldiers approaching and quickly dashed into the deeper shadows. Silently she waited for the soldiers to pass her.

_If I had any clue it would be this easy to break into a military base, Kroenen and I would have wreaked havoc on the Nazis' enemies,_ she thought. But then again, perhaps Kroenen _had_ known about how easy it would be, but had simply seen it to be beneath them. After all, there had been more important matters to attend to, such as the portal generator.

Oblivious of her presence, the two talking soldiers passed by her and disappeared into the night. Once she was sure they were gone, Erica slunk through the darkness, no more than a shadow among the other shadows. Somewhere ahead of her she heard voices. Judging by the voices, there were at least three soldiers, maybe more. _I can handle that many if something goes wrong, _she thought, _I'll eavesdrop on them, maybe I can learn something to my advantage._ She headed towards the building that the voices were coming from. When she was sure that the voices were just around the corner of the building, she knelt on the ground and then cautiously peered around the edge.

Around the corner of the building several soldiers were standing around a porch light and talking to each other. All of them were wearing the military uniforms that were typical of the Allied forces. Some of them were throwing darts at a wanted posters tacked to the side of the building. All of the wanted posters were for various members of the Thule Occult Society, including a very poor illustration of Erica herself.

"Blasted darkness," one man remarked, gazing up at the dark sky.

"Cold too," replied another, tossing another dart at the cluster of posters. Erica winced slightly as the dart hit the illustration of herself in the middle of the forehead. "I don't envy the people that have guard duty tonight. They must be freezing up in those towers."

"Well I won't be in a tower, but I'll be patrolling the fence." said a man who was absentmindedly fingering a rosary.

Erica saw something move in the darkness beyond the soldiers and turned her attention towards it. As she watched, the moving form came closer and she realized that it was a young, Aryan man wearing a military uniform and carrying a mailbag. The other soldiers saw the young man approaching and called out to him.

"Heinrich, where have you been? You've been gone all day!"

"I've been collecting mail from various military bases and intelligence organizations. And what a day! I just got here, and boy am I hungry!" Heinrich said, his English sounding a little odd because of his strong German accent.

_That's odd, _Erica thought, _A soldier in the Allied Forces that is obviously from Germany. _But that wasn't all that was strange. There was something vaguely familiar about Heinrich's voice, and even his facial features were familiar. It was as if Erica had seen him before. _But that's impossible,_ she thought, staring at him, _I've never forgotten a face. It's probably just a coincidence._

"Do you want dinner, Heinrich?" asked the man holding the rosary, "If you're lucky there'll still be something in the cafeteria for you to eat."

"No, Alfred, maybe later. I have to get this mail to the airfield—it's urgent," the young soldier replied proudly, "It has to be sent tonight so that it reaches the President of the United States by the morning of October seventh."

"Well, you better hurry, the plane is going to take off in ten to fifteen minutes. Anyway, we'll tell the cafeteria staff to keep some food warm for you."

"Thanks, talk to you later!" he called over his shoulder as he left the group of soldiers behind and walked towards the end of the building where Erica was hiding.

Erica quickly pulled her head back around the corner and ducked into the shadows. Heinrich turned the corner and passed right by her, whistling cheerfully as he started towards the unlit area of storage buildings that led to the airfield. _Talk about luck,_ she thought, smiling at the young man's back as he walked away, _Here's the perfect opportunity for me to send my letter!_ As soon as Heinrich was a few meters away, Erica followed him, being as silent as possible.

Unaware that he was being followed, the young man continued walking, the sounds of the camp slowly fading as he walked through the darkness, heading towards the airfield. He was proud to be trusted with carrying the urgent mail—it was a very important and sometimes dangerous job. But tonight he was tired and hungry. _I can't wait for dinner,_ he thought, his stomach rumbling, _usually the cooks save something good for me_. He stumbled on a small rock and turned his attention back to his surroundings, making sure he was going the right way. He knew that this was the part of the camp where supplies were stored, but he didn't like this section of the camp. It was always dark and deserted, and he thought it was creepy. And the fact that the moon and stars were hidden by the clouds tonight made it even creepier. Hearing the wind moaning eerily between the buildings, his whistling trailed off and he walked in silence.

_I hate coming this way,_ he thought, listening to the wailing wind,_ I wish this wasn't the fastest route to the airfield._

As Heinrich continued walking, he got a weird feeling, the sort of feeling you get when someone walks into a room behind you and you know they're there, even though you haven't heard anything. It was also like the feeling you get when you're in a dark room and even though you can't see, you know that you're not alone, that _something_ else is in the room with you and is standing there _watching_ you. It was the sort of feeling that made Heinrich's heart start pounding in his chest and made him feel uneasy, as if he wasn't alone. _It feels like—like somebody's watching me_, he thought, shivering. Then he realized what he was doing. _Oh come on, I'm a soldier, an adult, and I'm acting like a kid that's afraid of the dark! I'm perfectly safe here!_

No sooner had he finished thinking that, then from somewhere behind him he heard the distinctive sound of a boot scuffing the ground. He whirled around, looking back at the way he had come. The path was empty, and the only things there were the buildings and the shadows clinging to them. There was nobody behind him. _It was just the wind_, he told himself. He was just starting to turn around, when he thought he saw a shadow among the shadows _move_.

He froze and stared at where he thought he had seen something move. _It's just a trick of my eyes_, he thought. He continued staring at the spot, but soon it became painfully obvious that there was nothing there but shadows and the wooden side of one of the cabin like buildings. _Oh come on, I'm being stupid, _he thought as he forced himself to start walking again. But as he started walking, he heard footsteps behind him. He stopped walking, and the footsteps stopped, he started walking again, and the footsteps started again. By now Heinrich was really starting to feel frightened, and he whirled around to face the person following him.

The only thing that greeted him was the empty path. _No one there. It must have been my imagination, _he told himself firmly, _or maybe it was the sound my footsteps echoing off the sides of the buildings._ He stared walking again, but his heart continued to pound wildly in his chest, convinced that something was wrong. He forced himself to look forward, but looked out of the corners of his eyes to keep an eye on his surroundings. He had almost convinced himself that he had fallen prey to his overactive imagination—when, out of the corner of his eye, he saw one of the shadows move_ again_. And this time it was clear that it was _following_ him. Heinrich felt his stomach clench in fear, but he continued to walk forward as he slowly reached inside his jacket for the handgun that he always carried. Once he had a firm grip on it he turned his head ever so slightly to see if the shadow was still following him. It was, and this time it was even closer, barely five feet away from him. He tried to swallow, but his mouth had suddenly gone dry. He summoned up his courage and whirled around to face the shadow, pulling out his handgun in the same movement.

"W-who's there?" he asked, his voice trembling ever so slightly.

No one answered. And once again, the path in front of him was empty, there was no sign or sound of the moving shadow. Instead, from somewhere close behind him he heard a soft sound, like the rustle of cloth. Heinrich felt the hair on the back of his neck stand up as his blood turned to ice in his veins. Hardly daring to breathe, he started to turn to face the thing behind him—

WHACK! THUD!

The young man fell unconscious at Erica's feet, his handgun landing on the ground beside him with a soft thud. Erica stood over him, holding a baton sword. She had struck him on the back of his head with the baton sword's hilt, the same thing Kroenen had done to her a few days ago. Of course, Kroenen hadn't been trying to hurt her, and Erica had intended to knock the young man unconscious. She had also allowed Heinrich to hear her walking and to catch glimpses of her—it had made it easier for her to sneak up on him because he had been looking away from her.

Erica sheathed her baton sword and quickly knelt on the ground beside the young man's body and checked that he was alive, her fingers instantly finding the pulse on his throat. To her relief he had a pulse and was breathing, but from the strength of his pulse she knew that he would only be unconscious for a few minutes. She grabbed his arms and dragged his limp body into the deeper shadows by one of the buildings. Then she crouched beside Heinrich's body and slipped the strap of the mailbag off his shoulder. She opened the bag and took out the large envelope inside. The envelope was marked 'urgent' in capital, bold letters. Erica smiled and pulled one of the long, thin throwing daggers from of her sleeve and used it to cleanly slit open the top of the envelope. She looked inside. The envelope was filled with letters addressed to the President of the United States. She reached into her pants pocket and pulled out her letter and slipped it inside the envelope. Then she carefully resealed the large envelope so it looked like it had never been opened, placed it back in the mailbag, and put the strap back over the young man's shoulder. As she did so, she glanced at the nametag neatly pinned to the young soldier's shirt. She stared at it and blinked. _No way_, she thought, still staring, _It's impossible!_

The nametag read Heinrich Schwarz, the name of her grandfather! It had been six years since the last time she had seen him, but Erica instantly recalled a vivid memory of his kind eyes and his hearty laugh. She also remembered her parents telling her stories about how her grandfather had decided to flee Germany so he could join the Allied Forces in their fight against the Nazis.

_But is he really my grandfather? _she thought, looking down at him. It was a well known fact that Schwarz was a common German surname, but how many men had the first name Heinrich _and_ decided to fight the Nazis, despite their heritage? _Not many,_ she decided, looking down at the man that she now recognized as a younger version of her grandfather. _No wonder I thought he looked and sounded familiar!_ _I guess there really_ is _the danger of killing your ancestors if you go back in time,_ she thought wryly. She shuddered at the thought, she couldn't imagine killing a member of her own family. _This is too creepy. What are the chances that I'd run into my own grandfather? And on top of being creepy this is really making me feel guilty in _so_ many ways. I knocked out my own grandfather! And on top of that, until a few days ago I was_ helping _the Nazis when my own grandfather risked his life to fight against them—he must have been turning in his grave—only, he's not dead yet so he couldn't be_— Erica gave up. Time travel was just too confusing.

Suddenly, Erica saw Heinrich's eyelids flicker, he was starting to wake up! Erica moved away from him, and hid in the shadows nearby where she could keep an eye on him.

Heinrich's eyes opened and he sat up slowly, looking around and rubbing the back of his head where he had been hit.

"What happened?" he muttered, standing up slowly and readjusting the strap on his shoulder, which had started to slip off.

Erica watched as Heinrich's eyes fell on his dropped handgun. The sight of it seemed to bring back his memory, because he picked it up and looked around fearfully. Erica heard voices and turned her eyes towards the airfield. A pilot was standing next to a small plane and gearing up while he talked to a man dressed in a military officer's uniform. _Time is running out, the pilot is about to leav_e Erica thought anxiously,_ I can't let that happen, or my letter will never arrive in time!_ Her grey eyes darted toward Heinrich, still holding his handgun and staring mistrustfully at the shadows around him. Then she looked back at the plane. She decided to take a risk. _I'll 'encourage' him to get moving!_ she thought, smiling mischievously. Silently she left the shadows and walked up behind Heinrich. Then she leaned forward, and breathed on his neck.

The results were instantaneous. Heinrich froze in place, a soft whimper of fear escaping from his mouth. Erica continued breathing on his neck, waiting for the moment when his fear would turn into panic and force him to start running. She kept an eye on his right hand, the one that was holding the handgun. She saw his fingers twitch ever so slightly and knew he was debating whether or not to risk whirling around and shooting at her. _I can't have that,_ she thought, _And that plane is going to be taking off soon. I think I'll encourage him a little more. _Erica considered for a moment, and then bent forward and whispered in Heinrich's ear.

"Guten tag" she whispered in his ear.

Heinrich gasped when he heard her speak, and started to raise the arm holding the gun. Erica reached forward and grabbed his wrist, squeezing it tightly despite feeling guilty about hurting her grandfather. Even if he was her grandfather, she couldn't let him shoot her.

"Don't even think about it." she hissed, tightening her grip.

Heinrich flinched as she tightened her grip to the point where his bones were almost threatening to snap. With a pained gasp, he dropped his handgun. Erica saw it fall.

"Much better." she hissed softly.

"W-what are y-you?" Heinrich said, his voice trembling.

"Your worst nightmare," Erica hissed in his ear. She half smiled, it was probably the truth, considering he was with the Allied Forces. But little did he know that his worst nightmare was in reality his own granddaughter. "So, tell me," she whispered, "I'm curious, are you afraid of the dark?"

"N—n—no." he stuttered, unconvincingly.

"You should be," she hissed, "Perhaps you'll be more careful in the future, ja?"

"Are y-you g-going to k-kill me?"

"Nein. I'm going to let you go. But even _think _about doing anything but running and I _will_ kill you. Auf wiedersehen."

The moment she released him he ran as fast as he could towards the well lit airfield, leaving his gun lying on the ground. Erica laughed silently and watched the panic stricken young man hastily deliver the mailbag to the pilot before running back to the soldiers' area of the camp. The pilot stared after Heinrich, shook his head and then climbed into the plane. Shortly thereafter the thunderous roar of the airplane's engine filled the air as the pilot started the engine. Then the airplane taxied down the runway and took off into the night sky. Happiness welled up inside Erica, soaring as high as the airplane carrying her letter. _It's done, _she thought, _I did it! _Then reality began to sink in. _I hope the Allied Forces come,_ she thought, _If not— _But she didn't want to think about that alternative, not yet, not here. _I should start heading back, _she thought,_ I have to get back within the forty-five minutes, and I'm sure my time is almost spent. _Erica turned and began retracing her steps, weaving through the buildings as she headed back to the place where she had climbed the fence.

Meanwhile, Heinrich had run all the way back to the soldiers talking and standing around the door. The soldiers saw him and called to him.

"Heinrich! You want dinner? The cook just said it's the last call…" the man trailed off, taking in Heinrich's appearance. The young man's blue eyes were wide open, his hair was a mess, and his face was very pale.

"What's wrong? You look like you've seen a ghost!" exclaimed Alfred Drummond, the man with the rosary.

"A ghost!" Heinrich choked out, "I did see a ghost! Or a phantom—or-or _something_!"

"Calm down! Tell us what happened."

Heinrich quickly recounted his story. When he was finished, he looked around at the soldiers expectantly.

"A ghost that speaks German?" asked one of the soldiers in disbelief.

"Yes. And that's not all," said Heinrich, "Look what it did to my wrist!"

He held out his heavily bruised wrist for the other soldiers to see. The other soldiers all nodded solemnly at his evidence. Then they looked at each other and burst out laughing. Heinrich looked at them in disbelief.

"What's so funny?" he asked.

"You're a good story teller, I'll give you that!" one man said, smiling, "For a moment you almost had me believing you!"

"You mean—you mean you don't believe me?" Heinrich asked, looking around at the laughing and smiling soldiers.

"Shadows that speak German and steal guns, that's a good one!" one soldier chuckled.

"But—but I'm telling the truth!" Heinrich insisted, "I did meet a shadow that spoke German!

"Sure, sure you did!" the other soldiers said, barely concealing their laughter.

"But—but I did!" Heinrich protested, his voice trailing off as he felt his face grow red with embarrassment.

"Great story! I'll admit, it was funny, but I have leave— I've been assigned to patrol the fence for a few hours," announced Alfred Drummond, "I'll see you guys later. Oh, and Heinrich? Great ghost story!"

"But it's not a story!" Heinrich shouted, "You shouldn't go out there alone, Alfred! What if it's still there?"

"Oh stop this nonsense!" Alfred said gruffly, "And trust me, if I do run into anything, particularly shadows that creep around spouting German, then I'll silence it permanently!"

Alfred took out his handgun and gestured with it meaningfully before turning and walking away. Heinrich stood silently, feeling helpless and very embarrassed as Alfred disappeared into the darkness.

But despite Alfred's gruff façade, Heinrich's story had scared him more than he let on. He was a superstitious and deeply religious man, _and_ he believed in ghosts. This belief was intensified by the dark night as he strolled along the fence, occasionally throwing nervous glances towards particularly dark patches of shadow. And it didn't help that he had nothing to take his mind off of Heinrich's story, which kept repeating itself over and over again inside his head.

_Get control of yourself, man! _He scolded himself, _The boy probably tried to scare me on purpose, knowing I'd have patrol duty tonight! There is nothing in this military base but us, nothing could get past the watchtowers and the fence!_

Having regained his confidence, Alfred continued along the fence, occasionally rubbing his hands together to keep them warm. He glanced at the spotlights as they swept over the ground near him and then reversed direction and started sweeping away, leaving the area in almost complete darkness. In fact, it was so dark that the only things he could see were the dark shapes of the cabin-like buildings on his right, and the fence on his left. The wind wailed as it rushed through the fence, and Alfred heard the distinctive sound of metal rubbing against wire somewhere above his head. He looked at the top of the fence, searching for the source of the sound. Then he spotted it: the strand of barbed wire running along the top of the fence had broken and the two strands were rubbing against each other as the wind blew.

_That's unusual, _he thought staring at the broken wire and walking closer to the fence, _in fact, that barbed wire doesn't look like it broke, it looks like—it looks like it's been cut!_

As he walked forward towards the fence looking up at the barbed wire, something made him glace at the fence directly in front of him. And as he did, he saw a darker shadow among the shadows _move_. Instantly his thoughts flew back to what Heinrich had said: _'I saw one of the shadows move…'_

Erica pressed her back against the chain link fence, staring at Alfred, who was standing in front of her, peering into the darkness that Erica was hiding in. Mentally she cursed at herself for allowing him to catch a glimpse of her. It wouldn't have happened if she had looked around before she run over to the fence. As it was, she hadn't seen Alfred until she had made it into the shadows around the fence. But by then he had seen her, even if it had only been a glimpse.

She saw him coming closer to her and froze, holding still so she blended in with the darkness. She knew Alfred couldn't see her. But it seemed that he wasn't going to give up that easily. Alfred came a few steps closer, peering into the darkness as he pulled a flashlight from his pocket. _Oh no_, she thought, _He'll see me!_ Instantly her hands went to the baton swords strapped to her legs. _If I have to fight him to get out of here I will,_ she thought, preparing to attack. Just then Alfred flicked the flashlight on.

To Erica's extreme relief, the battery in the flashlight was nearly dead, and the bulb barely shed any light. Nevertheless, Alfred aimed the flashlight at the darkness as if hoping the light would ward off some evil creature of the night.

Alfred pointed the flashlight where he thought he had seen something move.

"Damn it!" he cursed, noticing that the flashlight's battery was almost dead.

The wind stopped wailing for a moment, and in the silence he clearly heard the sound of someone breathing heavily, as if they had been running. Alfred felt his heart begin to pound against his ribs and sweat break out on his face as he pulled out a loaded handgun.

Erica realized a moment too late that Alfred could hear her breathing. She held her breath. _I wish I hadn't run to the fence, _she thought. She anxiously held her breath as he came closer, aiming his handgun in her general direction.

"Who's there? Show yourself!" Alfred ordered. When there was no response, he cocked the gun.

"Come out! This is your last chance! I'll shoot!"

Erica, for the first time, felt a twinge of fear. She couldn't risk being shot. Not only did she risk being killed, but there was the added risk of capture—and possibly execution—at the hands of the Allied Forces. Erica sighed and decided to show herself. _After all, I am more than capable of dealing with a solitary soldier who is close to panicking. _She grinned wickedly, checked that the hood of her cloak was still over her face, and then she stepped out of the shadows.

Alfred was just about to shoot when, to his surprise and fear, a cloaked specter-like form detached itself from the shadows.

"Good Lord!" he exclaimed, aiming his gun at the figure, "Who the hell are you?"

Erica considered her answer. _I can't give him my real name, or he will definitely shoot at me. It's every Allied soldier's dream to receive a medal of bravery for my murder. Not that he has a good chance of hitting me, _she thought, looking him over. He was shaking so badly that he couldn't hold the gun straight. _I just don't want the attention that a gunshot is bound to attract._

"Answer me! I'll shoot!" Alfred threatened, his voice quavering. By now his heart wasn't simply pounding, it was beating thunderous against his ribs.

"Most know me as the Angel of Death." the figure replied.

"The Angel of Death!" Alfred repeated, his mind instantly flying back to last Sunday's sermon in church. It had been about the Angel of Death taking a person's soul when they were about to die. "But I'm healthy!" he shouted, "I can't die, not now! I don't want to!"

Erica was briefly confused by Alfred's behavior until she realized that he had taken her words _literally_ and not as the nickname that the Allied soldiers used in reference to herself, Erica Schwarz.

"Oh, believe me, you can die." she said, walking closer to him with all the grace and menace of a predator.

"Hey! Don't move!" he shouted.

Erica ignored him. Beneath her cloak, she tightly gripped the handle of her baton sword as she came within a few paces of him—

BAM!

The gunshot shattered the silence of the night. But Erica was no longer in front of Alfred. She lunged to the side and unsheathed her baton sword before dashing behind him. For a moment, the baton sword's blade glittered faintly as it arced through the air—and then she brought the hilt down on his skull.

WHAM!

Alfred Drummond crumpled to the ground and lay at her feet, unconscious.

"Forgive me," she murmured.

Behind her she heard shouts of alarm coming from the rest of the camp—Alfred's gunshot had attracted unwanted attention. _I won't have time to climb the fence,_ she thought, glancing over her shoulder at the camp. She could already see the silhouettes of soldiers running out of the buildings, looking for the source of the commotion and shouting to one another. Disregarding the shouts, she abandoned any attempts at stealth and ran back to the chain link fence. She braced herself and then struck out at the wires with her baton sword. As the sharp blade easily cut through the wires, the metal gave a piercing, ear-splitting shriek.

The shriek drew the attention of the soldiers, and they started running in Erica's direction even as the spotlights started swinging towards her. She ignored them, and with a few more violent slashes she had sliced a gaping hole in the chain link fence. She hastily tried to duck through the hole—

Pain seared across her face as some of the cold, sharp ends of the cut wires slashed deep into the right side of her face and neck. She jerked her face away from the wires in time to see that the bright beams of the spotlights were no more than ten feet away from her. Behind her the soldiers' shouts grew louder and a screeching alarm went off. Erica's heart raced in her chest and in desperation she ducked through the fence again, stifling a cry as the wires cut her face again.

Then she was standing in the grassy field on the other side of the fence. Erica didn't think, she ran. She felt the beam of the spotlights hit her back and for a moment she saw her own shadow stretched out in front of her. Adrenaline pounded through her veins as she kept running through the tall grass, trying to shut out the shouts from the military base as they suddenly grew louder: the soldiers had caught a glimpse of her in the light of the spotlights. She kept running, and soon she was too far away for the spotlights to reach her. She left the grassy field and dashed into the forest, weaving between the trees, the cold night air rasping coldly and painfully in her throat.

Erica didn't stop running until she was near the pine tree that she had arrived next to a little over a half hour ago. A few steps away from the pine tree, she paused to catch her breath. She leaned against a nearby tree trunk and closed her eyes as she tried to calm her racing heart. She also slowed her breathing, the cold night air had made her throat sore.

_That was close_, she thought, sheathing her baton sword. _But I did it, I sent the letter!_

Until October 9th she would have to continue her dangerous charade and prepare to destroy the portal generator—with or without help. There was always the possibility that the Allied Forces wouldn't come, or that they would arrive too late. And if that happened, she knew she would be on her own.

XXXXX

At the military base, a large crowd of soldiers had gathered around the fence. Some were staring out at the darkness, trying to catch another glimpse of the running shadow. Others were pointing at the gaping hole in the fence while a few others were gathered around Alfred, who had just woken up.

Two soldiers grasped Alfred's hands and helped him get to his feet.

"Thank you," Alfred muttered, gingerly rubbing the back of his head where he had been struck.

He wandered over to the group of soldiers gazing at the hole in the fence.

"Who do you think it was?" one soldier asked.

"You mean _what_! It looked like a ghost!" exclaimed a soldier that had caught a fleeting glimpse of the black clad figure fleeing into the darkness.

"You're both wrong," Alfred said, looking very pale and fingering his rosary, "It said it was the Angel of Death."

The soldiers around Alfred looked at him with blank expressions that quickly transformed into knowing smiles as they looked at each other.

"I think you got hit on the head too hard, Alfred." a soldier said, "You better head on over to the hospital building."

The crowd of soldiers laughed good naturedly at the joke.

"No, no. That's who it said it was!" Alfred insisted.

A commotion arose at the back of the large crowd as the soldiers hastily moved aside to let a figure pass through. His uniform identified him as the commanding officer in command of the military base, and the nametag pinned to his uniform proclaimed him to be Sergeant Alexandre Barret.

"What's going on here?" he demanded, "Who's shooting?"

"I was, sir." answered Alfred.

"And what were you shooting at, pray tell?" Sergeant Barret asked, clearly irritated.

"A trespasser—or a ghost, I'm not sure."

"A trespasser or a ghost! Can't you tell the difference, man?" Barret asked, berating Alfred.

Then Sergeant Barret caught sight of the mutilated chain link fence, still brightly illuminated by the spotlights. He turned away from Alfred and slowly approached the mutilated fence, examining the damage with a shocked and serious expression. His bright, hard eyes missed no detail as he studied the gaping hole that had been viciously slashed into the chain link fence. His eyes darted to the twisted wires and then to the cut barbed wire at the top of the fence. Then his eyes flicked to a shining liquid dripping from some of the wires located at about head height. He leaned closer and realized that the crimson liquid was blood.

"What is it?" asked a soldier that was standing nearby.

"Blood," Sergeant Barret answered grimly. He turned to Alfred, "Well, you weren't shooting at a ghost, but you also didn't hit the intruder."

"But there's blood—" said a voice in the crowd.

"It's not enough to be from a bullet wound. See? Judging from where the blood is on the wires, the wires probably scratched the intruder's face."

As Sergeant Barret gestured at the blood coated wires and the blood spattered ground, his eyes fell on an object lying near the bottom edge of the fence. Swiftly, he bent down and picked it up, holding it up in the light.

It was a black rose with a crimson ribbon tied in a bow around its stem.

Sergeant Barret turned this strange scrap of evidence over in his hands, his brow furrowed. Just then Heinrich came running over. He took in the scene at a glance.

"I told you that ghost was still out here!" he shouted at Alfred.

Sergeant Barret and the soldiers turned their attention to Heinrich.

"What ghost?" asked Barret.

"The one that grabbed me," Heinrich replied, "I told Alfred all about it."

Sergeant Barret turned his piercing eyes on Alfred.

"The thing I shot at wasn't a ghost, and it wasn't speaking German," said Alfred shakily, "It said it was the Angel of Death."

"So you expect me to tell my superiors that we were invaded by some kind of German-speaking 'ghost' or 'angel' that apparently didn't do anything but wreck our fence?" Sergeant Barret raged.

When no one answered him or offered anymore information Sergeant Barret sighed in utter frustration. It appeared that was _exactly_ what he was going to have to do.

Author's Notes: Whew! What a long chapter for me! Originally this was twice as long, but I spilt it in half so the second half will be chapter sixteen. That means this story will end up having a total of eighteen chapters instead of the seventeen I expected. I hope you liked the perspective switches between the characters in this chapter, as well as the interesting situation with the wanted posters. Hehe! And chapter sixteen will mostly be dealing with Erica's increasingly difficult and dangerous interactions with Kroenen, Ilsa, _and_ Grigory.


	16. The Bridge is Crossed

Chapter Sixteen: The Bridge is Crossed 

Disclaimer: Hellboy characters do not belong to me. However, Erica and Peter Murrell are mine.

Author's Notes: Thanks for the reviews Scorponis, DarkCloudRider, Psycho Llama, Blu Embyr, and Gestalt! You guys are so wonderful! BTW, I saw the director's cut of Hellboy last night, and it was great! In this chapter how much Kroenen knows is revealed, and Erica has a disturbing encounter with Kroenen, which results in a meeting with Grigory (gasp!). Then for a change of pace it's off to America for a visit with a 28 year old Professor Broom. As before, "Ja" is yes, "Nein" is no, "Guten tag" is hello, and "Guten Abend" is good evening. Everyone review, pretty please!

**Scorponis: **Hehehe! There's more suspense in this chapter about if she'll be caught! Great to know you liked her grandfather being in there, it's all thanks to DarkCloudRider!

**DarkCloudRider:** gives rib crushing hug back Yeah, I loved your idea too, it worked really well in the story. And don't worry, the cuts and her rose will be explained in here! Oh, and a warning: this chapter is probably going to make you cry!

**Psycho Llama: **It's one of the best WWII related fics you've ever read? I'm flattered! I guess it comes from watching movies like _The Sound of Music_ and _The Great Escape_. As for what Kroenen's going to do to her when he finds out, just keep reading!

**Blu Embyr: **Hehehe! You're going to find out how much Kroenen knows!

**Gestalt: **So good to hear from you again! I wondered what had happened to you. Glad to know you're still reading: ) A relationship between them is sort of suggested or implied, but I probably won't go into specifics for a while, maybe not until the sequel. And the split personality gave me an idea, though that also won't show up until the sequel. As to if the Allied soldiers will figure out if it was her, let's just say it has a lot to do with the story: )

"Do what you can with what you have, where you are."— Theodore Roosevelt

_The night of October 5, 1944_

Harsh grating noises filled the hall outside Kroenen's study, and were even louder and more jarring inside his study, where the sound was even worse than fingernails scraping down a chalkboard. The sound was eerie and would have made the average person's skin crawl, but Kroenen didn't mind the noise. He was used to it—after all, he had to keep all his blades as razor-sharp as possible, and that involved the necessary task of sharpening them.

Kroenen sat at his desk, an array of swords, daggers, and various strange looking blades spread out before him. After Erica had ridden off and disappeared into the night, he had come straight to his study and almost automatically bent to the task of sharpening his swords. _They really do need it, _he thought, checking the sharpness of a dagger with his thumb. Or, at least, that's how he justified what he was doing. In a way, he had chosen to sharpen his swords in an attempt to get his mind off of Erica, hoping the physical labor would be enough to distract him. The attempt had been in vain.

_True, it worked for a while, _he thought, sighing,_ but then_—

Kroenen paused in his work and the room fell into a silence that was as equally eerie as the rasping sound of metal had been. In the silence he could hear the fire crackling and opera music playing softly in the background. But that wasn't what had gotten his attention. He gracefully turned and looked towards the window, staring out at the night darkened countryside. Somewhere out there an enormous amount of magic was being used.

"Erica?" he murmured, gazing out the window.

The room didn't answer him, but he knew the magic user had to be Erica—it felt like her. The magic was very faint, which meant that she had to be at least two or three miles away. It was also too far away for him to tell _why_ she was using magic.

_What is she doing? _he wondered, gazing out into the darkness, _This is the second time this evening that I've felt her using magic._

He had been able to lose himself in his task and forget about Erica and her strange behavior until he had felt that first burst of magic. Now Erica was the only thing he could think about.

_I hope she isn't in trouble,_ he thought, suddenly feeling anxious, _But if she is, I know she's more than capable of taking care of herself. She'll be fine, _he told himself. Then his mind took an abrupt U turn, _If she gets hurt I'll never forgive myself, _he thought. His thoughts went into reverse._ If she's in trouble, she's too far away for us to arrive in time to do anything. I'll just have to wait until she returns. _Then he amended his thoughts. _If she isn't back in one hour than I'm going out to look for her. And when I find her, heaven help the people rash enough to be tormenting her!_

He looked down at his desk, watching as the firelight played over the silver blades lying on the desk in front of him. He halfheartedly picked up a baton sword, but quickly put it back down. He couldn't concentrate on sharpening blades right now.

_As long as I'm going to be thinking about her, I might as well be doing something useful, like going through the thoughts I found in her mind, _he thought,_ I might be able to figure out why she's been acting so strangely._

He had delayed doing this for as long as possible because in a way, he was almost afraid about what he might find. The last time he had seen her thoughts had been that morning, when he had pulled them from her mind, but now he was going to try to study them. Since Kroenen had cut off his own eyelids years ago, he couldn't close his eyes to block out his study. Instead, he simply turned around and faced the darkest corner of the room. Then he called up the images he had found in Erica's mind.

There was darkness and then a flash of something silver glimmering against a black background. The silver object was blurred, and at seeing it he felt a sense of betrayal and anger that he knew belonged to Erica. The shining silver thing disappeared and he saw walls rushing past as if he were watching from behind Erica's eyes as she ran down a flight of stairs and then down long dark corridors. The corridors disappeared and for a moment he was facing a burning city, looking at the shells of ruined towers as they stretched toward a blood red sky streaked with oily black smoke. The city vanished and he found himself standing on an enormous chessboard, surrounded by chess pieces that towered above him. He turned to face one of the obsidian pieces and saw his reflection in the polished black surface. Only—his reflection was _moving_, and he wasn't. His reflection was standing with Erica in the middle of her wrecked study. He turned and faced another black chess piece, and in the reflection he saw Ilsa and Grigory standing beside a block of stone in an obsidian hall. The block of black stone had lines of thick, crimson blood running down its sides; there was a bloodstained body lying on top of it, but he couldn't recognize it because the face was turned away from him—

The chess pieces disappeared, leaving him on a chessboard that was empty except for the enormous hourglass in front of him. The top held white sand, and the bottom held black sand that was quickly rushing to the top of the hourglass, changing to white as it went—The hourglass disappeared and a grandfather clock took its place. Instead of numbers on the clock face there were dates written on it, and the clock hands were rapidly turning towards October 9th. The label 'October 9th' was written in blood, which was slowly dripping down the clock's white face. The air around him was thick with an indescribably strong sense of dread—the image of the clock rippled and then shredded apart as he was violently pushed from her mind—

And then it was over.

He turned away from the dark corner and for a few minutes he stared at the roaring fire in the fireplace, listening to the opera music playing in the background. He was thinking about what he had seen, but despite all his best efforts, he still had no idea what the majority of the images meant. The only thing he knew was that her feelings of dread and the images of blood were all somehow connected with October 9th. But what he found most disturbing were the feelings of bone chilling fear and heart wrenching anguish that had been present through all of the images he had gotten from her mind.

_What could make you feel like that, Erica? Why are you so afraid? Why are you dreading October 9th? You should be happy, _he thought.

He simply didn't understand, and the only way to get answers would be to get them from Erica herself, and she wasn't telling. He gazed at the fireplace for a few minutes, until his gaze fell on one of the many objects sitting on the mantel. Slowly, he stood up and crossed the room to stand in front of the fireplace, where he picked up one of the framed black and white photographs sitting on the mantle. He held it in his hands and stared at the photograph.

It was a picture of himself, Erica, and Ilsa in one of the mansion's gardens. He was standing on the left, beside Erica, and Ilsa was standing on Erica's other side. The three of them were in full military uniform, but there was a casual air to the picture: both Erica and Ilsa were smiling and laughing, and Erica had taken off her hat and let her hair down. There was a rose behind her ear. He gazed at the two smiling young women. At the moment the feeling of happiness felt alien to him, and he recalled that he hadn't seen Erica _or _Ilsa smile—_really_ smile— in what felt like a long time.

_Erica, _he thought, gazing at the picture, _My Angel of Death. My Angel..._

He sat down in his chair and set the framed black and white photograph on his desk. He looked at it for a moment, and then he picked up a sword.

The eerie sound of metal grating on metal filled the room as he put a sharp edge on the sword. _One thing is certain, _he thought,_ Erica will have a lot to explain when she returns._

XXXXX

Erica arrived in the forest. She wasted no time in collecting the candles from their places around the chalk circles, and then she carefully used her boot to scuff out the chalk designs. When that was finished, she untied and mounted her horse before riding back to the mansion. She arrived in an empty stable yard, which was a relief. She had half been expecting Kroenen to be standing there waiting for her. She left her horse in the stable and then started up the path to the mansion's front door, knowing it was the expected way for her to get inside. _I hope I don't run into anyone,_ she thought as she walked up the white marble stairs to the mansion's main entrance, _I don't think I could handle it._

She ignored the door's stain glass windows and intricate carvings, and put her hand on the doorknob. She twisted it and, to her surprise, the huge door swung open. _I'm surprised it wasn't locked, _she thought as she slipped silently into the entrance hall, _Maybe a servant came out this way and forgot to lock the door behind them._

It was very dim in the entrance hall. During the day the gold chandelier hanging from the high ceiling barely lit the huge space, but now that it was night most of the candles had burned out and only a few remained lit. As it was, the light from the candles threw an eerie, flickering glow on the crystals hanging off the chandelier, causing them to sparkle and shimmer faintly. It also threw strange shadows over the walls, causing the normally beautiful hall to look very surreal. Erica turned and shut the door as quietly as possible before she turned the locks. She listened as each one clicked softly as they fell into place—

"Guten Abend, Erica."

Startled, she whirled around, her blood running cold at the sight that met her. _Oh Scheiße_, she thought.Kroenen was leaning against the banister of the ornate staircase, watching her. It was obvious that he had seen her come in, and that he had been watching her from the shadows that were hiding the lower part of the staircase. The flickering light from the chandelier cast dancing shadows across the surface of his smooth black mask, making him look threatening. Or maybe that was just her guilty conscience. For a moment she was reminded of the day she had first met him, when he had been standing at the bottom of the stairs waiting for her and Ilsa.

"Hello, Kroenen." she answered, her voice coming out strained.

"I've been waiting for you." he said simply, "I unlocked the door so you could get in."

"How kind of you," she said, forcing a smile to hide her feelings of unease, "I suppose you were worried that my horse might break his leg and leave me stranded somewhere."

"Nein, but I was—and still am—concerned about you," he answered softly, leaving the staircase, his black trench coat swishing as he moved. He stopped in front of her. "I'm curious, where exactly did you go?"

"Nowhere in particular, I was just riding," Erica replied, trying to be evasive, "I told you that when I left."

"Nowhere in particular," Kroenen repeated, sounding suspicious, "Really. Now tell me, were you by chance attacked while you were riding?"

"No," Erica said, sounding a little confused.

"Then why," he asked, moving closer to her, "then why were you using magic?"

"Oh, I was just practicing. You know, to get rid of the built up power so that I don't shatter anymore wineglasses or burn wooden desk tops." she answered, glad that she had come up with an excuse on the ride back.

Kroenen continued to stare intently at her, the light from the few lit candles on the chandelier throwing odd shadows over his metal mask. Erica had no choice but to stare back. It felt like his gaze was piercing her heart and searching her soul, and she had the uncomfortable feeling that he didn't believe her. Unconsciously, she stepped back from him and ran into the hard surface of the door. Kroenen simply stepped forward so that there was barely an inch of space between them. Erica pressed her back against the door, wishing she hadn't locked it. If he had figured everything out than there would be no escape for her. As she moved, the hood of her cloak slipped away from her face. She was otherwise occupied and didn't notice. But Kroenen did.

"There's blood on your cheek, Erica." Kroenen said softly. He reached towards her and ran his gloved fingers through the crimson liquid and down her face, leaving scarlet streaks in his fingers' wake, "And there's blood on your lips."

Erica licked her lips and tasted the thick, iron tinged flavor of blood. Kroenen was right. She hadn't even thought about it until this moment, but now she could feel blood running down her right cheek, over her jaw and down her neck.

Kroenen gently touched her chin and tilted her head to the side.

"There's blood on your neck," he said, trailing the fingers of his hand across the bloodstained skin on her throat. He could feel her pulse fluttering rapidly beneath his fingers. Erica shuddered and then her breath caught in her throat as one of his fingers brushed against one of the deep gashes. At her gasp of pain he gracefully pulled his hand back, and his black leather glove came away stained with her blood. He held up his hand and examined the blood running down it. Then he looked back at her, and when he was sure that he hadn't hurt her, his hand returned to her gashed cheek, gently turning her face so he could examine the cuts in the dim light.

"If you weren't attacked, how did you hurt yourself this badly?" he asked, concern and curiosity evident in his voice, "Perhaps you ran into a tree branch, hmm?"

His last sentence sounded like he had known exactly what she was going to say. Erica felt even more uneasy and immediately concentrated to see if Kroenen had tried to slip into her mind again. To her relief he wasn't in her head. _I guess he just knows me too well,_ she thought. But that wasn't surprising, he had known her for six years. _No wonder I'm having such a hard time hiding things from him,_ she thought.

"Ja, I did run into a tree branch," she lied, thinking that her excuse sounded very pathetic.

"You did, did you? I can't _imagine_ how I guessed." Kroenen replied, slightly mockingly. He dropped his hand from her face, "Come with me to my study, I'll stitch those gashes closed."

He grasped her wrist and tugged gently, encouraging her to follow him. As he held onto her, she could feel the blood on his leather glove rub off on her skin. That sensation painted a particularly vivid vision in her head of what would happen to her if she were caught. Erica knew in that moment that one of the _last_ places she wanted to be if Kroenen was suspicious was alone with him in his study.

"No." Erica said firmly, pulling away.

Kroenen looked at her. "What did you say?" he asked, sounding surprised.

"I said no. I'll—I'll take care of it myself," she smiled half-heartedly. Quickly, she racked her brains for a suitable excuse that wouldn't make him more suspicious, "You know how much I hate stitches. And really, the cuts aren't that bad."

"They're bad enough to have blood dripping down the right side of your face and neck. Come, you need stitches." he insisted, trying to grab her arm again.

She evaded him and slipped around him, backing towards the stairs as fast as she could without looking too suspicious.

"No, no, that's alright. I'll be fine. Really. I'll go and take care of it right now, and then I think I'll get some sleep. Goodnight."

She turned and started up the staircase, but Kroenen's voice stopped her when she was only halfway up.

"Erica."

She took a deep breath to calm herself and turned around, leaning over the banister so she was looking down at Kroenen.

"Yes?" she asked hesitantly.

"You're lying to me again, my Angel of Death," he said softly and a little sadly, "I would hope that you wouldn't feel the need to do that. Erica, you can tell me anything, anything at all, and I'll listen. Is there anything you want to tell me?"

Erica looked down at him, feeling emotions welling up inside her. His voice had sounded almost imploring, and she knew that her behavior must seem inexplicable to him. _How I wish I could tell him_, _but if I did I would make it worse—it's better this way than for his heart to be torn in two by having to kill me. Although that will probably happen anyway, _she thought bitterly, _Grigory isn't likely to just let Kroenen stand around while I try to destroy the portal generator._

"No, there isn't," she said, "I'm sorry, I really am. Forgive me."

And with that she turned and ran up the stairs. Kroenen didn't follow. He remained standing in the entrance hall, gazing after her until she disappeared. On the one hand he was relieved that she was alright and that she had gotten back safely, but on the other hand, he knew that she had been lying about everything except about not being attacked. And he hadn't believed her excuse about using magic. It just didn't sound right.

_Why would she use magic and then lie about why she did it?_ he wondered.

And on top of outright lying to him, all day she had been strangely reticent about the answers that she had given him. True, he knew his concern about her and his relief over her safe return had made him sound prying and suspicious, but so it was with anyone who perceived that someone they cared about was in danger.

Kroenen gazed thoughtfully at the staircase before he strode away, his boots tapping loudly against the white marble floor. _It's time to find Ilsa and talk to Grigory, _he thought, _This has gone too far. I don't understand what's going on with Erica. Maybe Grigory can help..._

XXXXX

Erica closed her bedroom door behind her and locked it before leaning against it, feeling exhausted. Between sneaking into the military base and the confrontation with Kroenen, she was exhausted both physically and emotionally. She slid down the door and sat on the floor, her head in her hands and her knees drawn up to her chest. _How much longer can I keep this up? _she thought, feeling tears welling up in her eyes. She wiped the tears from her eyes and then realized that something wet was running down her arm. She looked at her hands and arms: they had little drops and stains of blood on them where the blood on her face had rubbed off on her pale skin.

_I have to do something about my cuts,_ she remembered.

She stood up and wandered into the bathroom, where she looked in the mirror. She gasped. On the right side of her face and neck there were several deep bleeding gashes and her skin and shirt collar were stained with blood. _Kroenen was right, I'll probably need stitches, _she thought morbidly, _Of course, he's always right when it comes to judging how serious a wound is_.

She washed her face and did the best she could to take care of her injuries and to clean herself up. To her surprise, once she washed off all the blood, the cuts didn't look nearly as bad. She was looking in the mirror, examining her injuries, when she glanced at the rest of her appearance and realized that something was missing. She scrutinized her reflection for a moment, unable to pick out what it was that was missing. Then she realized what it was and her face went pale.

The black rose that Kroenen had given her—it was gone!

The rose was no longer sitting in the breast pocket of her jacket. And Erica had an uncomfortable feeling she knew what had happened to it. She vividly remembered ducking through the fence at the military base and that the cut wires had scraped across her face and the rest of her body. The wires had probably caught on the rose and torn it loose, which meant that it was lying near the fence at the military base.

_I hope no one finds it, _she thought, _And if they do, I hope they don't think it's important, because if Kroenen hears about it—_

She left her thought unfinished, she couldn't bear to think about what would happen. To get her mind off of that, she turned her attention back to tending to the cuts on her face and neck. When she was satisfied, she took off her cloak, her boots, and then put her satchel back in her closet. She put the five candles, the small mirror, the chalk, and the red book in the small wooden box on her bookshelf, and then she locked the box. She put away all her weapons, changed her clothes, and untied the ribbon holding back her hair before she collapsed onto her bed and lay there, staring up at the crimson canopy. She didn't bother to blow out the candle on her nightstand, she was too nervous, too frightened, and too excited to sleep.

_But being scared is understandable,_ she thought, _considering what will happen to me if I'm caught. I'm _way _beyond just thinking about betraying the Thule Society and the Nazis—I've probably committed enough grievous crimes against them that they could write a list! Let's see, one, I thought about betraying them. Two, I plotted against them. Three, I acted on those plans. Four, I gave top secret information to the Occult's and Nazi's enemies. Five, by talking to my grandfather, I've been fraternizing with the enemy. And six, because of my rank, I've committed general high treason. _

She gave a wry laugh. _And on top of that,_ she thought, _with what I'm planning for October ninth, they'll be able to add 'destruction of the portal generator' and probably 'indirect murder of important officials' to the already extensive list of crimes that I've committed. Oh well, I suppose that if I'm betraying them, I may as well go all the way, it's not like the punishment if I'm caught can get any worse._

_And speaking of betrayal, that's exactly what my grandfather has done—he betrayed Germany by fleeing the country and then joining the Allied Forces. I guess being a traitor must run in the family,_ she thought, remembering the encounter with her grandfather. It had been weird to talk to a twenty year old version of her grandfather, even if he had been too scared for them to have a real conversation.

Erica turned her head and winced as the right side of her face brushed against the pillow. _I wouldn't have gotten these cuts if Alfred hadn't seen me and then shot at me—_Her train of thought was derailed as a series of images played in her mind. They were all of a dark night, and there was someone dressed in black—and he was trying to kill her. It was a fragment of the vision she had had on October second, and she remembered that she had briefly mentioned it to Kroenen after she had dealt with those assassins. She had forgotten about it in all the excitement and turmoil of the past two days as she had made plans to betray the Occult. _I can't believe I forgot about my vision! _She thought, _And it's a very important vision now that a lot of people are about to try to kill me. I wonder if it's a vision of October 9th, telling me that a Nazi or Allied soldier is going to try to kill me? Or has it already happened, and the vision is of Alfred, the Allied soldier that shot at me?_

There was only one way to find out.

Erica closed her eyes and concentrated, and very suddenly she was no longer lying on her bed: she was standing with her back pressed against a stone wall. It was dark and it was very cold: she could feel the cold air rasping in her throat as she gasped for breath. She was scared and almost completely exhausted. She sensed someone in front of her and she looked up and saw a man's figure towering in front of her. He was completely dressed in black, and she couldn't see his face. Erica couldn't tell if this was because it was so dark, or if he was wearing a hood of some sort, but really, it didn't matter, because her mind had registered one fact: he had trapped her! The man raised his weapon—

Erica's eyes flew open and instead of seeing the threatening man, she saw the crimson canopy of her bed. She sighed in relief, and it was only then that she realized that she was out of breath and that her hands had a death grip on the quilt she was lying on. Quickly, she relaxed her grip and saw that her fingers had put wrinkles into the fabric. She also discovered that her entire body was tensed as if she was expecting someone to hit her. As she forced herself to relax and listened to her racing heart, a chilling thought occurred to her.

_Could I have just witnessed my own death? _she wondered.

She shuddered, realizing that it was entirely possible that she had—but there was also the possibility that she hadn't. _I wonder who the man was? _she thought, _I couldn't see his face. At least the stone wall rules out the possibility of my vision having already happened—there was a fence, not a stone wall, at the military base. _But while that was important, it wasn't the most important thing. The important thing was to discover if the man, whoever he was, succeeded in killing her on October ninth.

_Oh! _She thought, realizing, _All I have to do is look into the future to see what will happen on October ninth! _Erica mentally slapped herself for not looking into the future to see if her plan to send the letter would work, _before _she did anything. Quickly, she closed her eyes and concentrated.

_Will the Allied Forces arrive on October ninth, and will I survive the night?_ she asked.

The first thing that registered in her mind was that it was dark and that it was very cold. Rain fell in a torrential downpour as the wind shrieked around the ruins and forced the trees to sway. All around her Nazi soldiers were setting up equipment—the sounds of the wind were suddenly drowned out by bone chilling screams and the thunder of massive explosions—the Allied Forces were locked in battle with the Nazi soldiers—that was followed by images that seemed to suggest that the Allied Forces ships were at sea and stuck in the storm, and that they would arrive too late—she was back among the ruins listening to the sharp sound of gunshots—she was standing on rain slicked stairs, watching as Ilsa drew out a gun and shot down an Allied soldier. Ilsa's beautiful face was contorted by rage and she was shrieking incoherently in German—_Too much!_ Erica thought, holding her head in her hands, _I can't deal with this much! And none of it makes sense_—Grigory was standing tall with a triumphant look on his face as the Ogdru Jahad started coming through the portal—an image of the portal exploding—a skeleton screaming against an electric blue background—Von Krupt checking his gold pocket watch—a blood red rose trampled into the mud—the glare of spotlights on the rain and blood slicked cobblestones—

Erica's eyes flew open and she sat bolt upright on her bed. She regretted it immediately. She was suddenly assailed by a pounding headache that was so strong she lost her balance and rolled off the edge of the bed. She lay on the floor for a few moments gasping for breath and feeling extremely nauseous. She clutched at her stomach and curled up on the floor, willing herself not to throw up. When her headache had lessened and she was pretty sure that she wasn't going to throw up she slowly sat up.

_Why didn't it work? _She wondered, _It didn't make any sense! Nothing was in order, and most of the images were contradicted by others. Maybe I should try again._

Hesitantly, she closed her eyes and tried again—she was surrounded by horrible screams—rain falling on her face—indescribable fear—sheep bounding through rain soaked fields—fire— Erica gave up and opened her eyes. To her surprise, she discovered that she was laying flat on the floor. _I don't even remember falling, _she thought as she suppressed her stomach's desire to empty its contents all over the floor. Slowly, she crawled to the edge of her bed and somehow hauled her exhausted body up and onto the bed. She lay there for a few minutes, just trying to recover.

_It's like my mind is a magic eight ball and the answer to my question was that the future is hazy,_ she thought, giving a weak laugh,_ I didn't answer any of my original questions, but, if the vision about the man trying to kill me is going to happen on October ninth, that explains why I can't see the outcome of the fight. Because it's happening on October ninth, I can't see much of it. I wonder why that is?_ She thought, suddenly frowning. She didn't like that she couldn't see the future, it made her feel very uneasy and unprepared. It also made her wonder if something was wrong with her. _I wonder why the man was having such an easy time of trying to kill me, I can more than handle any average man. Perhaps I had already been wounded and he was trying to finish me off._

Her fingers compulsively toyed with the silver watch hanging from her necklace and she bit her lip, choking back a sob as she looked at the initials engraved into the back of the watch. _Kroenen, I hope you'll forgive me when you find out what I've done—but you'll probably hate me. You'll hate me for betraying you, hate me because you'll be forced to kill me—God! What am I doing? I have friends here, people who care about me, and now I'm going to lose it all. Is it really worth it?_ she wondered, looking at her cross necklace, _Is it really worth it? I guess it doesn't matter now, it's too late to second guess myself, I've already betrayed them, I don't have a choice. I have to go through with it._ _I just hope I'm doing the right thing._

She knew it was far too late to have second thoughts. The bridge had been crossed. Erica lay there, staring up at the red canopy above her, her hands clutching the two silver necklaces to her heart, which felt like it was threatening to break. She realized that the moment she had sent her letter she had crossed that bridge, and even now held in her hand the flaming torch that would destroy her escape route. There could be no going back now. _Soon my bridge will burn, _she thought grimly_, I only hope that I don't burn along with it._

XXXXX

_The morning of October 6, 1944_

When Ilsa walked into the dining hall Erica was just finishing her breakfast.

"Guten tag," Erica said, smiling.

Ilsa nodded and smiled back. "Come, Grigory wants to talk to you."

Erica looked less than thrilled, but she stood up and followed as Ilsa led the way through the labyrinth of corridors to a section of the mansion that was never used. As they walked, Ilsa reflected on the thought that most people would have said it was wasteful not to use this part of the mansion. And really, in a way, she knew they were right. The rooms and corridors here were made of stone and were by far the most elaborate and the most beautiful. _The reason that no one but myself comes here is because this section of the mansion belongs solely to Grigory,_ Ilsa thought. She grinned wickedly, remembering the horrible but well deserved fates that had befallen various snooping servants that just _had_ to know why these rooms were never used.

_And actually, I wouldn't be here now if Kroenen hadn't talked to me last night. I'd be using a sledgehammer to take out my frustrations on a prisoner or servant._

Ilsa frowned, the entire thing had been very unusual, Kroenen rarely asked others for help. But he had asked for help, and at the end of their conversation both of them went to Grigory and explained the situation—everything from Erica refusing to show Kroenen her vision, to the things that Kroenen had seen in her mind. Grigory had been very concerned and he had told Ilsa to bring Erica to him as soon as she was awake in the morning.

Ilsa turned her attention back to the hallway she was in. She stopped in front of a door and then opened it and went inside, Erica following behind her.

Erica, for her part, was feeling extremely nervous and on edge. Before she had decided to betray the Occult, speaking to Grigory had just required that she be somewhat respectful. But now she knew that she would have to be careful as well as respectful, because one misstep could spell a fate worse than death.

SLAM!

Erica jumped a little as the door slammed shut behind her. She tried not to shiver, but the sound reminded her of a hunter's trap closing on an animal's leg. She turned her attention back to the room, gazing around warily.

The room was fairly large and the walls, ceiling, and floor were decorated in nothing but black and white marble. The room was very dark because it had no windows, and the only light came from a huge roaring fire burning in an even bigger fireplace that was located on the left wall. The light from the fire was very odd, it danced and flickered and threw a dark, hellish light over the room. The room was almost completely devoid of furniture, except for an enormous table in front of her that was covered in spell books, inkwells, mirrors, and other objects pertaining to black magic. But it wasn't this table that held Erica's attention, it was the figure standing in front of it.

It was Grigory Rasputin. He was dressed in a long black robe embroidered in red. Shadows played over his face, making his dark eyes look wild. Erica and Ilsa approached him, and as they walked their boots tapped sharply on the stone floor. The sound echoed off the stone walls, breaking the silence of the room. Out of the corner of her eye Erica saw a shadow move, and then she realized that it was Kroenen who had been standing in the shadows beside the fireplace. He strode over and joined them, and the three of them stopped a short distance from Grigory, who continued to watch them silently, a small smile on his lips. Kroenen and Erica bowed their heads respectfully, but Ilsa walked to Grigory and stood beside him, an expression of fondness on her face. Grigory smiled warmly at her and then turned his attention back to Kroenen and Erica.

"_Acire_," Grigory smiled, "It's been a long time since we last spoke."

"Yes, it has," she answered, inwardly flinching at his use of her true name. She carefully kept her face neutral to disguise the fear she felt inside.

Grigory turned away from her and spoke over his shoulder as he shuffled through some books on the table.

"Kroenen and Ilsa tell me that you've been acting strangely," he spoke softly, but his Russian accented voice carried through the entire room, "They say it's because of a vision you've had. And that you've refused to show it to Kroenen."

Erica let this information sink in. She knew that she was walking on extremely thin ice. _Grigory's either toying with me, or he has no idea that I've betrayed the Occult, _she thought. As if he had heard her thoughts, Grigory turned to face her, his dark, wild eyes fixed on her.

"Is this true?" Grigory asked.

"Well…" she trailed off, unsure of what to say. She knew that if she lied to him that he would know it, but she also knew that she couldn't tell him the truth or show him the vision that the silver necklace had caused. If she did, she could be sure of suffering a fate far worse than death: the complete destruction of her soul.

"Yes?" Grigory asked, "Go on."

But she remained silent. Her mind was blank, she had no idea what she should do. And it didn't help that Grigory's gaze seemed to see right through her, seemed to be searching her mind and laughing at her helplessness. But after a few moments of silence Grigory looked away from her and turned to Kroenen.

"Tell her what you saw." Grigory ordered.

At his words Erica's eyes shot to Kroenen, who shifted ever so slightly as if he felt uncomfortable. But he spoke.

"Erica, the second time I tried to get into your mind, before you forced me out—and rightfully so, I had no business intruding on your thoughts without asking first—but before you forced me from your mind, I saw things…" Kroenen trailed off.

"You saw things when you were in my mind?" Erica repeated. She kept her face neutral, but inside she felt nothing but dread. _How much did he see?_ She thought anxiously, _How much? Does he know about what I've done? If he does, did he tell Grigory and Ilsa? _

"Yes, I saw things. But nothing made any sense," Kroenen answered. He looked straight at her, "Except that I knew you were afraid."

"And you fear coupled with your refusal to show your vision to Kroenen has led me to a single conclusion: that you've had a very disturbing vision," said Grigory, "And, based on these books," he gestured to the table behind him, "you must have had one about the events to happen on October ninth. It's impossible that you couldn't have, it's too big an event to remain ignorant of. And I also have an idea about why that vision might be disturbing you, but that will have to wait until after you show it to us."

Erica was very relieved that he didn't seem to know what she'd done. _And it's a good thing I tried to see what would happen on October ninth last night,_ she thought, _otherwise I wouldn't have anything to show them. And in a way, that vision is disturbing me, just not nearly as much as the one I had because of my silver necklace. They might just fall for this_.

"Alright." Erica answered, holding out her hands, one to Ilsa and the other to Kroenen. Grigory stayed where he was since he didn't need to be touching Erica to see her visions. Erica paused for a moment to calm herself, and then she closed her eyes and concentrated—

—A storm was raging overhead. Rain came lashing down, driven by the wind. Trees swayed and black flags fluttered in the wind above an army of Nazi soldiers who were busily setting up spotlights and—the night exploded! Fire and waves of heat that vaporized the falling rain— Ilsa standing beneath an umbrella, calmly talking to Grigory—a leather book with raindrops running down the cover— _It's too much! _Erica thought. Her head pounded painfully from being exposed to the dizzying whirlwind of images._ It doesn't make any sense!_ —Kroenen slaughtering a group of Allied soldiers—ships at sea stuck in the storm, waves crashing down on their decks— the Allied Forces locked in combat with the Nazis—Von Krupt standing on rain slicked stairs—a man crawling on all fours, his knee bleeding profusely from a gunshot wound—the ring of the portal generator spinning—a red rose trampled into the mud— the Ogdru Jahad coming through the portal—there was a tremendous explosion followed by people screaming—

Erica wrenched her eyes open and discovered that she was lying on the floor. To her surprise, the screaming from her vision continued, and she suddenly realized that _she_ was the one that was screaming. She hastily shut her mouth and clutched at her pounding head, her fingers brushing against a small bump where her head had hit the stone floor. She felt extremely nauseous, and she wasn't sure that she could stop herself from throwing up. She glanced up and saw Kroenen and Ilsa standing over her. Ilsa looked very concerned, and Erica could tell from the way Kroenen was standing that he was very alarmed about what had happened. Grigory on the other hand, looked mildly interested in what had happened, as if he had known what the outcome would be and was pleased to see that he had been right.

Kroenen and Ilsa helped Erica up, but even with their help she stumbled. Once she was standing again she felt extremely dizzy, as if she would fall over at any moment. Grigory continued to look faintly pleased.

"Just as I thought," said Grigory, his voice very calm, "I knew you wouldn't be able to do it."

Erica looked at him sharply and she felt Kroenen stiffen slightly beside her.

"What?" Erica asked.

"You can't see the outcome of October ninth because releasing the Ogdru Jahad is such an enormous event of change. There are too many possibilities for any one thing to be definite," Grigory explained, "This is why you have been so upset, yes? Because you can't see what will happen? Because there seems to be a chance that we won't succeed?"

"Yes, that's why." Erica said, readily seizing upon this reason. But she was careful not to look Grigory in the eyes. She knew that if she did that he would know she was lying.

"I thought so." Grigory said, looking even more pleased, "You may go now, _Acire_."

She nodded respectfully and then exited the room. _Thank God I got out of there safely!_ she thought.

Once the door had closed behind Erica, Ilsa spoke to Grigory.

"No wonder Erica has been acting so strange," Ilsa said, "She must have thought something was wrong with her, and on top of that she was upset because she discovered there was the possibility that our plans could go wrong," she turned to Grigory and looked up at him, and expression of complete devotion on her face, "But we won't let that happen, will we? Tell me that we will succeed!"

Grigory actually smiled at her, but his smile slowly faded away. He wasn't used to failure, and he didn't expect that their plan would fail. _However,_ he thought,_ if there's a chance_—_if something goes wrong_—

"Don't be concerned, Ilsa. But I will take precautions so that you can find me again, should something happen. Now go, both of you. Each of us must finish preparing."

Kroenen nodded and left, Ilsa close behind him.

"Satisfied?" she asked.

"More or less." Kroenen answered. Then he turned down a corridor, leaving Ilsa behind, staring after him.

Kroenen wasn't sure what to think anymore. _Erica's explanation was reasonable, but there's still something not quite right about her_, he thought, _I don't know how Grigory can sound so sure when I can look at her and know something is different. Perhaps it's because I've been her teacher and friend for six years and Grigory has hardly ever talked to her for more than an hour at a time._

Kroenen hadn't meant for his thoughts to be so bitter but he couldn't help it. In a way, he was angry that Grigory had forced Erica to show them her vision, knowing full well that she wouldn't be able to do it. And on top of it she had clearly been suffering. Why else would she have been screaming?

_I just don't understand, _he thought.

Understanding was a thing he prided himself on. He was, after all, a scientist and a doctor in a twisted way. So when something came along that he couldn't understand it plagued his thoughts until he finally took it upon himself to figure it out no matter how long it might take. In Erica's case what he didn't understand were the thoughts and images he had seen in her mind. Her fear and dread had been too extreme for it all to be focused on the possibility of failure. And he wasn't so sure that her fear was connected to her vision of October ninth. No, it seemed to be more focused on the actual _date_ than on anything else.

_Why is she afraid? Why are her thoughts laced with images of blood and of time running out? Why did she burn parchment paper in the fireplace? Why did she use magic and then lie about it?_ he wondered,_ Well, then again, even I have been a little deceiving. I didn't tell Grigory that she used magic and then lied about it._

_Why would she lie about it? _asked a voice in the back of his head, _Why would she lie? She wouldn't—unless she was doing something wrong._

Kroenen pushed the disconcerting voice to the back of his mind. It had been popping up more than ever and he didn't like what it had to tell him.

However, no matter how negative the little voice could be, its words were nowhere near as sinister as the truth. For in all of Kroenen's wonderings, it never once occurred to him that Erica would even consider betraying them.

XXXXX

_The morning of October 7, 1944_

_The Office of Professor Trevor Broom, Paranormal Advisor_

Professor Broom's study was a cheerful, untidy jumble of strange objects, piles of books, and bizarre artifacts. Clippings of newspaper articles were pinned to the walls or peeked out of desk drawers stuffed full to overflowing with amulets, animal skulls, and candles. Bookshelves covered almost all of the walls, and all of the shelves were packed with books or scrolls. Professor Broom himself was so unusual a person that he seemed to be part of the room. But it wasn't his appearance that was so unusual. Really, he wasn't all that remarkable looking, he was a polite young man of twenty eight with untidy brown hair. No, it wasn't his appearance that was so unusual, it was _what he did_. Professor Broom studied and researched everything having to do with the paranormal or occult sciences for the purpose of defending the public from supernatural threats. He was also a paranormal advisor to the President of the United States.

Professor Broom was sitting as his desk, a half full cup of tea sitting to the right of the book that he was reading. As he read, his glasses slid down his nose, and with a practiced gesture he pushed them back into place. He looked up for a moment, smiling contentedly as he absentmindedly fingered the rosary hanging from his wrist. The room was quiet except for the soft sound of opera music playing in the background. Professor Broom smiled at the silence.

_It looks like it's going to be a nice, peaceful day of perusing ancient texts and examining unusual artifacts_—

SLAM!

His thoughts were interrupted as the door flew open and a young man came rushing in. "Professor Broom!" he shouted, bounding over to the desk, "You've got another assignment!"

_So much for perusing ancient texts_, Professor Broom thought, sighing, _It looks like it's going to be another hectic day._

"Yes, Peter?" Broom asked, turning to look at the young man's brown eyes and short, dirty blond hair.

"Here, this is for you," Peter Murrell said, handing an envelope to him, "The President just got it this morning with the urgent mail from one of the Allied military bases in Europe. It definitely belongs in this department, the President said it mentioned all sorts of paranormal things. Of course, he also said it would have a lot to do with the military divisions, providing that the information is authentic."

Professor Broom looked down at the plain, unmarked envelope, slowly turning it over so he could examine the red wax seal. The seal was plain and had no markings, and it had already been broken, presumably when the president had opened the letter. Professor Broom carefully reached inside the envelope and took out the parchment letter. He unfolded it just as carefully and then gazed at the words that had been handwritten in red ink.

"What does it say?" asked Murrell, looking curious.

In answer, Professor Broom began reading the letter aloud.

"To the President of the United States: The Nazis are desperate. They have combined science and black magic with the intention of upsetting the balance of the war. In the process they have joined forces with the Thule Occult Society and together they have worked on Project Ragnarok. I risk much more than my life by sending this, and I can only pray that this reaches you in time to prevent a hellish cataclysm beyond your worst nightmares: the release of the Ogdru Jahad, the Seven Gods of Chaos. This event will take place on a small island off the coast of Scotland, where the ruins of Trondham Abbey lie over and intersection of Ley Lines, and on October 9, 1944 an assortment of Nazi soldiers and Thule Occult Society officials will be present. I have little hope of stopping them on my own, but I will do everything in my power to prevent their success. You _must_ act before it's too late. The failure of this project will be a fatal blow to the Nazis and the Thule Society. Sincerely, A Friend."

As Professor Broom read, his expression progressed from curious to stern, to grim. Murrell noticed Broom's expression.

"I take it this isn't good." said Murrell.

"It's talking about the destruction of the world." said Professor Broom, the enormity of the situation dawning on him.

"Ah, yes, well, that _would_ be a bad thing." Murrell said, unaware that he had just made the understatement of the century.

But Professor Broom didn't hear him, he had stood up and hurried over to one of the many books shelves around the room and started to search for books. Murrell followed him.

"I don't suppose there's any chance of it being a false alarm, is there?" Murrell asked, "I mean, the person that wrote that has to be mad!"

Broom turned and fixed the young man with a stern look.

"The person who wrote that letter was _not_ mad," Broom insisted. He detested it when people made remarks like that about things in his area of study, "All these details—the specifics—I know what they're talking about. As for whether or not it's a false alarm, I just hope that it is."

"Then you know about this?" Murrell asked incredulously.

"I've heard of it." Broom admitted, sounding distracted because he was almost totally absorbed in finding the books that he wanted. He pulled out any books that sounded like they might hold information pertaining to the letter. When he was finished, he walked over to a table and plopped down the large pile of books that he was carrying.

"What's all this?" Murrell asked looking at the towering pile of books.

"A little light reading." said Professor Broom.

"_Light reading_? You call _this_ light reading?" Murrell exclaimed, "You're—you're _mad_!"

"Yes, that is the general opinion I run into." Broom said as he picked up the letter. He read over it again, making sure that he had picked out books that would cover all the topics mentioned in the letter. That was when he noticed something.

"Strange." murmured Professor Broom, staring at a few of the handwritten lines.

"What?"

"Only someone involved with _both_ the Nazis and the Thule Occult Society could have sent this—only they would have known about this in such detail. This isn't the first time I've heard rumors that the Nazis and Thule Society were up to something, but this letter is the first hard evidence that there really _is_ a connection between the two," Broom said, gesturing at the letter, "In fact there's information in here that has answered a lot of questions—everything fits perfectly as if it were puzzle pieces!"

"What makes you think someone involved with the Nazis wrote it? It could have been written by a spy working for the Allied Forces."

"It couldn't have been," said Professor Broom dismissively, "Spies haven't been sent to Germany for weeks because they've all been killed by The Three within hours of arriving." The Three was the term the Allied soldiers used when they were talking about Karl Kroenen, Erica Schwarz, and Ilsa Haupstien.

"Damn those three," Murrell cursed, "But is there anyone involved with _both_ the Nazis and the Thule Society that would decide to turn traitor? And if there is, are they telling the truth? I mean, how do we know this isn't a trap?"

"We don't know that it isn't a trap. In fact, it _could_ be a trap. I won't know until I do research. As for if there are people who are members of both, the answer is yes. I just have to figure out which of them wrote the letter."

As Professor Broom spoke he went over to another bookshelf where he quickly selected a book and brought it back to the table. He plopped it down in the only space not occupied by his pile of books and then swiftly leafed through the book's pages. He stopped when he reached pages covered in neat charts. Small black and white photographs were lined up on the far left of each page, and to the right of each picture were a few sentences.

"What's that?"

"A list of people involved with both the Thule Society and the Nazis." answered Professor Broom, pointing at the bold heading on the page. Murrell's questions were beginning to annoy him. "As you can see, there are quite a few. Now, if you don't mind, please return to your duties so that I can concentrate."

Peter Murrell looked a little disappointed, but he left. As soon as the door closed Professor Broom glanced at the top of the list where there was a picture of the Head of the Thule Occult Society, Karl Ruprecht Kroenen. _Doubtless he's involved in this,_ thought Professor Broom, gazing at the man wearing the strange mask,_ but he wouldn't give away his own plans. _

Beneath Kroenen's picture was that of a beautiful Arian woman. The words under the photograph read Ilsa Haupstien. _No, _he thought, _it's not her either, she's a strong Nazi supporter._ Then his eyes fell on the picture of a young woman with striking eyes. She looked to be about twenty two years old, and to Broom's surprise, she wasn't Aryan. Beneath the photograph was the inscription Erica Schwarz, and below that, written in parentheses, were the words 'The Angel of Death'. There was very little background information on her, but the text provided a lot of information on her current activities:

'_Erica Schwarz appeared suddenly in 1938 and rapidly rose to power despite several assassination attempts. She is one of the top members of the Thule Occult Society and is also a close friend of Karl Kroenen. This, along with her violent and bloody tendencies, is what earned her the nickname 'The Angel of Death'. She can foresee future events and can control her visions to search out information. Her most notable crimes include countless brutal murders ( including those of multiple Allied spies), practicing black magic, and assisting the Nazis in locating—and subsequently slaughtering— Allied troops.'_

"Not someone I would want to meet on a dark night." Professor Broom muttered, "Doubtless she's involved in this, but she would never betray the Occult."

And so he continued through the list. In the end he was unable to find anyone likely to become a traitor other than lower ranking members, and none of those would have been privy to such classified information as that contained in the letter. _And if any of the lower members had been spying, _he thought_, the Angel of Death would have killed them before they had a chance to write the letter_. _I wonder who wrote it?_

Professor Broom stared at the ambiguous signature 'A Friend' as if it might provide the answer for him. As he did so, one of the sentences caught his attention: _'I risk much more than my life by sending this'_, he thought, _Hmm, that seems to suggest that the letter was written by a person who has a high rank in the Thule Occult Society_. Professor Broom knew that if a high ranking member betrayed the Occult that the consequences were terrible. Not only would the traitor be ritually sacrificed, but their soul would be destroyed as well. _Hence that the writer had been risking more than their life, _he thought, _But I still can't figure out which high ranking member it is. All of them seem too involved to even consider it_.

Eventually he gave up on trying to identify the person who wrote the letter and instead started checking and cross referencing the information contained in the letter. When he was sure that everything was correct and that the letter was a genuine warning and not a trap, he quickly wrote up a report, urging the President to take immediate action to prevent the Ogdru Jahad from destroying the world. When he was finished he sent for Peter Murrell, who took the report up to the President's office.

As Professor Broom had expected, he was summoned to the President's office thirty minutes after sending the report.

"Professor Broom, I want you to know that based on your report I have ordered troops to prepare to leave as soon as possible," said the President, "This entire mission is classified and to remain top secret to prevent the public from panicking."

_Or laughing at us,_ thought Professor Broom, knowing that the public would never believe it. "Very good, sir. I'm glad you've realized the direness of the situation. As for the troops, we'll have to find someone to drill them in how to respond to the, um, unusual situations they're likely to run into—"

"No we won't," interrupted the President, "I'm sending you with them."

"What? But I don't want to go to Scotland!" exclaimed Professor Broom, "I detest violence! I'm not a soldier!"

"Exactly!" said the President, "That's why I'm sending you. Soldiers only know how to defend themselves and how to fight. But what they don't know is how to combat black magic. So if I were you, I would start packing. The troops are leaving this evening."

Author's Notes: Whew! I think that's the longest chapter I've ever written! Brrr, sword sharpening is creepy! I hope everyone understood the images Kroenen got out of Erica's mind, all of the images were things you should recognize. I also put some humor in here to lighten things up a little, and I hope Professor Broom isn't out of character. On another note, there are only two chapters left! Chapter seventeen is the long awaited night of October 9th, fraught with action and stuffed with peril! Or is it the other way? Anywhoo, feel free to send me any ideas you have for my sequel, I'm aiming for my plot to generally follow the movie, and I'd just like to know what you'd like to happen. Please, please, please review!


	17. A Night in the Rain, Part One

Chapter Seventeen: A Night in the Rain, Part One

Disclaimer: Hellboy characters do not belong to me. However, Erica is mine.

Author's Notes: Thanks for the reviews Scorponis, Psycho Llama, and Blu Embyr! I feel so loved! Ideas and suggestions are still welcome! Please forgive me for taking so long—almost a month!—to update. School started so I don't have as much time to write anymore. On top of that I'm a Tech. person for my high school's WWII play 'I Never Saw Another Butterfly'. And this chapter is so enormous I had to cut it into two parts. But don't worry, after Part Two there's an Epilogue, and then I'll start my sequel, which will be based on the Hellboy movie and the Director's Cut of Hellboy. (squee!) Anyways…Among other things, this chapter answers a question I had about how they got that huge portal generator to the island, and how those flags were hung up. As always, "Ja" is yes and "nein" is no. Everyone review, pretty please!

**Scorponis:** Here's your chapter! Sorry for the long wait.

**Psycho Llama: **Kroenen doesn't know exactly what she's done, but he suspects that she might have done something wrong, and is in denial about that. By the way, I visited **kroenenlove, **great web site, I'm very flattered that you mentioned my story!

**Blu Embyr: **Poor Broom, he is going to be shocked! Also, I put more humor in this chapter to lighten it up a little.

"Courage is the art of being the only one who knows you're scared to death."—Unknown

_The Afternoon of October 9, 1944_

_On Board a Nazi Ship Headed for Scotland_

Erica stood in the prow of the ship, her long brown hair blowing around her in the cold wind that was coming off the water. She looked over the side of the ship, watching as the slate gray water raced by. Normally the water would have been a deep blue, but it was currently reflecting the sky overhead, which was already half covered in towering, angry looking storm clouds. Erica looked up towards the sky, her eyes the exact color of the growing storm clouds overhead.

_That is going to be one nasty storm,_ she thought, _and we're going to be out in the middle of it._

She leaned over the side of the ship and looked back at the way they had come. There was nothing to see but miles of choppy, churning gray water spread out in all directions; the last glimpse of land had disappeared behind them hours ago. She looked anyway, knowing that with each mile they traveled she was getting closer to the moment she would make her betrayal known—a moment that would probably result in her death.

_I won't die, _she thought firmly, _not if I can help it._

She could feel the slight bulge of a grenade in the pocket of her black trench coat. She had brought it with the intention of throwing it at the portal generator. _The explosion should be enough to destroy the generator and prevent the release of the Ogdru Jahad,_ she thought. She could also feel the cold metal wrist blades lying flat against her forearms, waiting to be called into action, as well as the baton swords firmly strapped to her legs. She had brought them because she knew that she would end up having to fight—it was unavoidable, though she suspected that she would be fighting after the generator was destroyed and her betrayal was known.

_And if the Allied Forces don't show up I'll be fighting a futile battle for my life, _she thought, _There's no _way_ I can defeat all the Nazi soldiers on these ships._

But Erica had brought her baton swords with an additional purpose in mind. In the event that the grenade didn't work, she was hoping that the metal of the baton swords would be strong enough that she could shove them into some of the moving parts of the generator. If the metal was sturdy and didn't snap then the strain would cause the machine to stop and explode on its own. _How ironic, _she thought, her lips twisting into a strange smile, _Kroenen engraved the swords with the words 'Alles für Deutschland'. Everything for Germany. And yet they might be the very things that crush the Nazis' plans when they destroy the portal generator._

But there was something else, besides the generator and the Nazi soldiers, which she would have to take care of.

Erica's hands went to the handgun that she had shoved into her belt and she looked down, checking to make sure that the gun was loaded and in proper working order. She knew it was pointless. She had already checked it three times before. But it was important that it work—if Ilsa, Grigory, or Kroenen tried to stop her then she would shoot them. Not to kill, of course, she couldn't bear to think of murdering her friends, no matter how evil they might be. No, she would shoot to wound, maybe shooting them in the leg so they couldn't walk.

_Kroenen is going to regret that I remembered to bring this with me,_ she thought grimly, sliding the gun back into her belt. Thanks to Kroenen teaching her, she had a great aim with a gun and knew that she wouldn't miss. Hopefully the variety of weapons she was carrying would be sufficient. She had decided to prepare for the worst—not that the situation she was in could get much worse—because in this case there were too many possibilities for her to be able to foresee the future.

_Prior proper planning prevents a poor performance,_ Erica thought, remembering what Miss Hawthorne, the Drama teacher at her high school, used to say.

Suddenly cold sea spray struck Erica's face, jerking her back into reality. The gray ocean waves were getting larger as the wind grew stronger, and already the deck of the ship was wet with ocean water. Hanging on a pole jutting up from the roof of the Navigation room was the Nazi flag, and it was flapping wildly in the wind as it tore across the ocean in ever increasingly strong gusts, whipping the crests of the waves into white foam. The wind made her black trench coat flutter behind her.

She did what was expected of her. She turned on her heel and her jackboots clicked smartly against the metal deck as she strode towards the enormous crate that was chained to the deck. The portal generator was inside the crate, which had been transported to the coast on the back of a truck and then unloaded onto the ship. Erica gave some orders to the soldiers on deck, who quickly covered the crate with a tarp and then wrapped more chains around the crate, securing it more firmly to the deck so it couldn't be washed overboard if the storm got worse. The soldiers dashed back and forth, quick to obey the commands she barked to them in German. When she was satisfied that the portal generator would be safe, she strode across the deck and opened the door that led to Navigation.

The Navigation Room was full of activity. Nazi soldiers were hovering over the navigational controls, efficiently checking and rechecking the ship's course and murmuring to each other as they attended to the countless duties that kept the ship running. The soldiers carefully kept their heads lowered as she passed, keeping their eyes focused on their work. They, unlike Kroenen, hadn't noticed any change in her and still thought she was the same murderously inclined and fierce tempered young woman that she had always been. Erica walked right across the room and over to another door in the wall, which led into the conference room. She went inside and carefully closed the door behind her to cut off the noise from the Navigation Room.

The conference room was roughly rectangular and had stark, gray metal walls. There were large windows along the two longest sides of the room. The furniture consisted of a table and several chairs, three of which were occupied. Grigory was seated at the head of the table, leaning back and carelessly staring at the map spread out on the table. Ilsa was seated on Grigory's right. She was leaning forward and her pale hands were resting on the dark surface of the table. She was lightly tapping her fingers and her long red nails were clicking against the tabletop. General Von Krupt was sitting beside her and frowning as usual. He and Ilsa were having a heated discussion with the Captain of the ship, who was sitting across from them and looking very uncomfortable. Everyone, with the exception of Grigory, was in full Nazi uniform.

No one turned to look in Erica's direction as she entered the room, though she thought she saw Grigory's eyes flick to her for a moment before he returned to idly gazing at the map. Kroenen was silent, standing at one of the square observational windows and looking out over the water, his hands clasped behind his back. Erica gazed at him for a moment, feeling a sharp pang of guilt as she looked as his black clad figure. He was dangerous and imposing, but at the same time he was her closest friend—a friend that she would be forced to fight before the night was out. Erica tore her eyes away from him and leaned over the table, pretending to take an interest in the conversation.

"This is our current position," said the Captain, tapping a spot on the map, "And we're sailing straight into the hurricane."

"Ja," answered Ilsa, her voice stern, "Is there a problem with that?"

"Nein, nein, of course not," the Captain quickly answered, "I'm just saying that we'll, um, have to expect a few delays due to rough weather—"

"There will be no delays," Von Krupt said firmly, his dark crimson glasses flashing as if to express his almost constant displeasure.

"But—" began the Captain.

"There will be_ no _delays," Von Krupt repeated.

"At least there won't be if you value your life." Ilsa threatened, her ice blue eyes darting to where Erica was standing.

The Captain looked at Erica, his fear clearly displayed on his face. Erica did nothing to dispel it, instead she grinned wickedly and fingered the hilt of one of the baton swords strapped to her legs, playing the part that she knew was expected of her. The Captain gulped and quickly got to his feet.

"I'll inform the helmsman to keep the ship at top speed." the Captain said, his voice strained. He left looking very agitated.

Von Krupt pulled out his gold pocket watch and consulted it. His frown deepened and he muttered something. Ilsa looked at him sharply.

"What was that?" she asked, her voice falsely sweet.

"The hurricane is going to make it difficult to bring the portal generator ashore." the General said.

"It doesn't matter how difficult it's going to be, so long as it gets there!" Ilsa snapped, tired of Von Krupt and his omnipresent pocket watch, "And don't concern yourself with it, we will _not_ be late."

Von Krupt remained silent. He knew his limits, and knew better than to press his luck with Grigory and The Three.

Over by the window and unnoticed by the others, Kroenen reached inside his trench coat and took out a black and white photograph. It was the photograph of himself, Erica, and Ilsa that had been in the picture frame in his study. Besides a few of his weapons the photograph was the only thing that he had wanted to take with him, and was the only thing that he couldn't bear to leave behind. _Well, not quite the only thing,_ he thought. There was something else as well. He carefully slipped the photograph back inside the pocket inside his trench coat and then turned his head and gazed at Erica. Both of her hands were on the table and she was leaning on them for support as she bent over, looking down at the map spread out on the table. Unlike the others' faces, hers was solemn and without a trace of happiness that they were so close to success.

_Beautiful and dangerous as always, _he thought as he looked at her. _I just wish that she wasn't such a mystery to me. _Quiet as ever, he left the window and walked over to her.

Feeling a gentle tap on her shoulder Erica jumped a little and turned her head—and came face to mask with Kroenen, who was standing much too close for comfort. She tried to step backwards, but the chair behind her was in her way and she ran into it. Kroenen tilted his head to the side as if questioning her behavior. He was so close that she could see herself reflected in the round, glass lenses of his mask and could smell the strong scent of leather and blood that always clung to him. He was so near to her that she could clearly hear the tick, tick, tick sound of his internal clockwork. Kroenen raised his arm and reached towards her face, but Erica—afraid that he might tap into her thoughts, or that he might see her silver crucifix necklace that was hidden just under her shirt—flinched away from him before his gloved fingers brushed her cheek. He paused for a moment, his hand still outstretched, and regarded her closely.

"I would never intentionally harm you," he reminded her. Then he reached towards her again, and this time Erica forced herself to hold still. Kroenen used one of his gloved fingers to tilt her face upward and then slightly to one side. "I see your cuts have healed, despite your refusal to allow me to stitch them closed." he said softly.

Erica barely took in a word that he said. The second he had touched her cheek her emotions had welled up inside her like a boiling wave of water, and all of them were running rampant inside her. Anger, grief, guilt, love, and hate were all conflicting and straining to break free of the calm mask of expression that they had been hiding behind. And she was having a hard time controlling herself— she was actually trembling with the effort of containing her emotions. Erica swallowed thickly, choking back the tears she wanted to cry. All she could focus on was the whirlwind inside of her and Kroenen, who was still standing there, watching her every move. She felt like she was being swallowed by the dark glass lenses of his mask. Her lips parted ever so slightly, wanting to say so many different things, but no words came out. The only sound she made was the soft, whispery sound as she breathed quickly.

Kroenen watched all of this and tilted his head to one side, the familiar gesture that told Erica that he was intrigued with her behavior. She knew he could sense her discomfort. A few agonizing moment passed and then he dropped his hand from her face and stepped backwards from her, leaving her feeling shaky and unsteady.

"Here, I have something for you." he said as he reached inside his trench coat.

Erica watched him with curiosity as he drew out a single blood red rose. He pressed it into her gloved hand.

"I noticed that you lost the last one I gave you," Kroenen said, "When you came back from riding it wasn't in your pocket." He looked down at her, meeting her grey eyes. She quickly turned her head away, still feeling confused. It was at that moment that she noticed that the room was dead silent and that Grigory, Ilsa, and Von Krupt were staring at her and Kroenen. General Von Krupt was frowning, apparently disapproving of Erica's display of emotion, no matter how slight it had been.

The silence was broken as Grigory Rasputin stood and his chair scraped across the floor as he pushed it backwards. Immediately Ilsa and Von Krupt stood as well, the General looking somewhat disgruntled. Grigory smiled and gestured to the foot-long rectangular box sitting on the table. Ilsa gracefully pulled it over to her and opened it. She reached inside and took out a bottle of red wine and five crystal wine glasses.

"Tonight the miracle I have promised will come to pass and all impurity in this world will be razed. And you, my faithful followers, will be rewarded for your devotion and your labor that will bring this event to pass."

As Rasputin spoke, Ilsa poured the wine and passed a glass to each person in the room. Erica looked down at the crystal wineglass in her hand. It shone coldly and the wine sloshing around inside it was as red as blood, as red as the blood of the men she had killed in the past. Erica felt her stomach turn. _Murderer! _A voice in her head cried, _Murderer! _She looked up, the five of them were standing in a circle around the table, and together they made an ominous and threatening group, as if they were bearing witness to some arcane ritual.

"I propose a toast," Grigory announced, standing tall and looking very proud. He held his wine glass high. "To the Ogdru Jahad, the Seven Gods of Chaos! And to Germany, whose enemies will soon be vanquished!"

"To Germany!" everyone echoed.

_And to high treason,_ Erica thought, raising her wineglass.

As one they tipped back their heads and drank. Well, everyone except for Kroenen. Erica watched as he put his wineglass down on the table. She knew that for him it wasn't worth going to the trouble of removing his mask only to have half of the wine dribble out of his mouth and all over his uniform. Swallowing liquids was difficult when you didn't have lips.

Erica drained the wineglass and sat it on the table, a faint grimace appearing on her lips as she remembered that the wine had resembled blood. _At least it didn't taste like it, _she thought. Despite living in Germany where practically everyone drank alcohol of some sort, she had usually avoided it. This was because of two reasons: one, because it was all too easy for someone to slip poison into a wineglass, as she knew from the incident with Leonard; and two, because in the past too many people had tried to get her drunk, hoping that it would be easier to kill her.

She turned away from the others and picked up a black ribbon lying on the table. She pulled her hair back in a ponytail and tied the ribbon around it, and then put the rose in the breast pocket of her black leather jacket. Then she put on the black hat that matched her SS uniform. Because there was no mirror in the room, she looked at her reflection in the glass window and seeing that her hat was a little crooked, she adjusted it.

_It's overwhelming that one person can make such an enormous difference in the possible course of events!_ She thought, _Just think, whether I live or die, my actions will save thousands of lives and change the expected course of history. The Nazis will be defeated!_

Erica didn't know it, but her thoughts were oddly reminiscent of those of the first spy that had tried to kill her barely two days after she had first arrived in Germany. And now the young woman that so many people had tried to kill was about to fight and probably die for the same people that constantly cursed her name. She didn't want to die anymore than anyone else, but she would if she had to.

_After all,_ she thought wistfully, _There are some things worth dying for. And this is definitely one of them. My grandfather was right about that when he decided to fight against his own country and the Nazis._

As she gazed out the window at the foaming crests of the grey waves, rain began pattering against the glass. Within moments the entire room was echoing with the sound of the torrential rain as it hammered against the ship. As Erica watched the storm she couldn't help but feel that an equally strong storm was raging within her.

_God help me, _Erica thought, gazing at the crimson rose Kroenen had given to her, _This is going to be the hardest thing I've ever done._

Behind her the others were examining and discussing the map on the table. And even though Rasputin, Ilsa, Kroenen, and Von Krupt were in same the room with her, they had no idea that her thoughts were not filled with hate and destruction, but with determination and the hope for a different future than the one that Rasputin envisioned.

_The Lord is my Shepard, _Erica thought, mentally reciting the psalm to calm herself,_ And even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for you are with me…_

XXXXX

_The Evening of October 9, 1944 On Board a Ship Belonging to the Allied Forces_

_Destination: Scotland_

Professor Bruttenholm was seasick.

He stumbled across the deck of the ship, clinging to the rail as the waves tossed and heaved, drenching him in salty spray as they crashed against the sides of the ship. Raindrops hit the deck, filling the air with a harsh drumming sound that was nearly drowned out by the shrieking wind. The clouds covered the sky so thickly and so completely that it seemed almost like night. Broom's stomach heaved again and he hurried over to the rail and hung over it while his stomach emptied its contents of his lunch.

"Carrots? I didn't even _eat_ carrots!" he muttered, straightening up again and stumbling across the slippery deck to the door that led below deck. He grasped the metal handle and wrenched the door open. The instant he did so the wind caught the door and once he was inside he had to wrestle with the door before he finally got it to slam shut. Professor Broom stood by the door for a moment, attempting to neaten himself up a bit. He wiped water from his face with his hand and then took off his spectacles and dried them off on the edge of his jacket. He put them back on his face and then strode down the corridor, keeping a tight grip on the leather strap of the box he was carrying.

Pipes ran along the gray metal walls and ceiling of the corridor and the Professor's shoes tapped loudly against the metal floor as he walked. Unfortunately the corridor was very thin, and even more unfortunately, the corridor was very, _very_ busy. So busy, in fact, that Professor Broom had to press himself against the wall as groups of soldiers hustled past him, loading and checking their weapons. _I'm glad I'm not claustrophobic_, he thought as he opened a gray metal door in the wall of the corridor.

He stepped into a room that, just like the corridor outside it, was a bustling beehive of activity. It was full of soldiers rushing in and out and back and forth. Because of this the room was almost stifling with the atmosphere of activity, purpose, and that type of dread-filled excitement that surrounds soldiers as they make their last preparations before going into battle.

Broom wove his way through the soldiers in the room, occasionally getting jostled aside as someone pushed past him. Eventually he made it to the back of the room where Sergeant Whitman, the commanding officer in charge of the classified mission, was standing at a table covered in maps, papers, pencils, and empty coffee cups. As Broom slumped into one of the chairs at the table Whitman looked up and took in the Professor's wet hair, damp clothes, and very pale skin.

"Getting your sea legs, Professor?" Whitman asked, a grin on his face. Sgt. Whitman was an experienced man and could tell that Professor Broom was suffering from a nasty case of seasickness.

Broom ignored the jibe and plopped his wooden box down on the table, sliding open the lid and glancing inside to make sure that the contents of the box were intact. He smiled, seeing that the books, amulets, tarot cards, and rosaries were quite safe and dry.

"How long until we arrive?" Broom asked.

"Three, four hours. Maybe more, depending on how bad this storm gets." answered Sgt. Whitman.

"You mean it's going to get worse?" Broom asked, a hint of alarm in his voice as the ship leaned to one side and his nausea intensified.

"You bet. So I suggest that you don't eat anything for the next few hours, I doubt you'll be able to keep it down." Whitman laughed, roughly patting Broom on the back and easily keeping his balance as the ship continued to lurch from side to side. "By the way, you might wanna catch your box." Whitman said, gesturing as the wooden box began to slide off the table accompanied by several coffee cups.

As Broom lunged for his box Whitman smiled and walked toward the front of the room where he consulted some of the equipment and glanced at the radar screen. He was hoping that the Nazis' ships would show up. If they did then he could blow them out of the water and they'd be back home in no time without having to deal with any of that 'parabnormal' stuff that Professor Broom had been going on about. _Of course, that's if any of that crap turns out to be real,_ Whitman thought, _This is all a joke! And now I'm going to be a laughing stock for being sent on this mission, chasing after ghosts and God knows what else!_

Broom caught his box just as it began to slide off the table. He sat up again and pushed his glasses back up his nose with a practiced gesture. Then, seeing that Whitman was over by the navigational instruments, Broom hurried after him, still carrying his box.

"Sergeant Whitman, is there any way we could get to Scotland faster?" Professor Broom asked, interrupting Whitman's conversation with a soldier.

"Yeah. If we had perfectly calm seas instead of a hurricane." Sgt. Whitman replied harshly.

"I don't mean to be rude, Sergeant Whitman, but we cannot afford to be late. This is an important mission, I hope you've realized that."

Whitman looked at the Professor and caught a glimpse of the amulets and tarot cards in the wooden box. He frowned.

"You don't wanna know what I think, 'Professor'." Whitman replied, turning back to the radar screen.

Broom was just about to say something else when the ship lurched again and he decided that it would be better if he just sat down for a while. He returned to the chair near the table and sat there with the precious wooden box sitting on his knees, the leather strap wound around his fingers.

_I just pray we arrive in time, _Broom thought, _If we're late, I just hope the person who wrote the letter will be able to stop the Nazis. But if they can't, only God and the Devil know what will happen._ He shivered. If the Ogdru Jahad were released the consequences would be terrible.

Professor Broom had no way of knowing, but truly, only God and the Devil knew what surprises lay in store for the people on board the two sets of ships that were rapidly closing in on an island off the coast of Scotland.

XXXXX

_The Night of October 9, 1944_

It was raining like hell. Thunder and lightning crashed overhead. It was dark, and it was very, _very_ cold. And none of this was helping the Nazi soldiers laboring to transport the crate containing the portal generator.

The ships had landed on the shore of the island, as close to the ruins as they could get. As soon as they had disembarked the Nazi soldiers had gotten right to work. The crate had been lifted off the boat using pulleys, and then it had been lowered onto a wheeled platform. Then the soldiers picked up the chains at the front of the platform and began pulling it. And in this weather it wasn't easy to haul the crate and the various boxes of equipment over the rocky ground, especially since the cold, falling rain had turned the path into a thick quagmire of mud. The mud was so thick that it made the soldiers' boots stick for a moment before it let go with a wet sucking sound.

Kroenen led the bizarre procession. Apparently his strange and frightening appearance had scared the small flock of sheep they had wandered into, because the fluffy sheep froze for a moment and then fled in all directions, baaing in terror. Kroenen continued walking, indifferent about the sheep's behavior. Erica followed Kroenen, her head bowed slightly to help keep the rain out of her eyes and so that the rain fell off the brim of her hat and didn't run down the back of her neck. Ilsa and Grigory were next in the line, Ilsa holding a black umbrella to keep herself and Grigory dry—or at least drier than everyone else was. General Von Krupt was somewhere among the mass of soldiers trudging through the mud. Erica could hear him shouting orders in his harsh voice and could tell from the tone in his voice that the bad weather had made him very short tempered.

_Or at least more short tempered then he usually is, _she thought.

For what seemed like hours they slogged through what felt like the worst mud on the face of the Earth, accompanied by what was probably the worst storm in history. The heavens were dumping buckets of ice water on their heads, as if in an effort to impede what was going on below. Erica just kept her head down, carefully watching where she was walking. She was so intent on this that she nearly walked into Kroenen, who had suddenly stopped in front of her. He turned and looked at her before gesturing into the darkness ahead. She looked up and could just barely make out the pale stone of the ruins looming out of the blackness. Immediately she turned and looked back at the soldiers laboring at the bottom of the hill behind her.

"We're here!" she shouted.

Her words were either unheard or no one cared, because the soldiers continued swearing and cursing as they pulled the wheeled platform, and Von Krupt continued yelling at some unfortunate soldier for some minor infraction or other. Grigory and Ilsa might have glanced up at her for a moment but she wasn't sure.

When Erica turned back Kroenen was gone. She looked down at the ruins and saw him striding through the remains of the Abbey. Several indistinct white shapes raced away from him, baaing and making a fuss. A strange impulse to laugh welled up inside Erica, but she kept it inside and walked down the hill. Erica, Ilsa, and Grigory met Kroenen just inside the edge of the impressive Romanesque ruins. Kroenen nodded at them and then glanced up the hill, where the soldiers were now trying to prevent the wheeled platform from coming down too fast and crushing them. Despite the raging storm Erica could clearly hear the soldiers' vehement cursing.

"I don't know what they have to complain about," said Kroenen, "All that work has to be keeping them warmer than we are. Or at least warmer than the three of you, seeing as I don't have any body heat."

Grigory didn't look amused. "Start hanging up the flags." He ordered. And then he and Ilsa started walking towards the heart of the ruins.

"Well, here's where your talent for climbing vertical surfaces will really come in handy." Erica said. Kroenen chuckled darkly.

"I'm not the only one who'll be climbing up there—"

He was interrupted by the squeaking of wheels, shouting, and the rattling of chains as the Nazi soldiers came towards them pulling the wheeled platform. Von Krupt was walking along beside it and he shot a glare in Erica's and Kroenen's direction as he passed them.

Lines of soldiers marched behind the platform, and a group of them broke away from the main group and came towards Erica and Kroenen. All of the soldiers were carrying a box filled with stacks of the Nazi/Thule Society flags.

"As I was saying, I'm not the only one who'll be climbing," said Kroenen, "In fact, they'll be doing most of it. When we're finished I'll meet you in the main courtyard where they're setting up the portal generator."

Erica nodded and Kroenen walked over to the first wall with the soldiers running along behind him in order to keep up. Erica turned away and headed towards the clanking of chains coming from the main courtyard.

When she arrived the soldiers had pulled the wheeled platform to the spot where the portal generator needed to go. Von Krupt shouted an order and ten soldiers surrounded the platform, one at each of the many wheels. Von Krupt gave another order and each soldier pulled back a lever and flicked a switch on the wheels. In response the platform slowly lowered itself down onto the ground. The Nazi soldiers bent down and began unbolting the wheels. Erica saw Von Krupt and walked over to him. He was frowning and consulting his gold pocket watch again, and his dark crimson glasses glinted as he glanced up at her.

"Are we on time?" Erica asked, mockery seeping into her voice.

Von Krupt chose to ignore the sarcasm in her words. "For now." he replied as he turned to watch the soldiers.

"Don't be so skeptical." Erica said.

Von Krupt whirled around to face her. "Don't tell me what to believe." he said, his voice sharp, "And remember, the Fürher doesn't like failure."

"I know," murmured Erica, a strange smile on her lips, "I know he doesn't."

Von Krupt's frown deepened as he stared back at her. He had never liked her very much and her recent behavior hadn't helped to improve his opinion of her. _She's probably as mad as Kroenen is, _Von Krupt thought.

He turned away from her and watched as the soldiers carried away the wheels. It was raining so hard now that water was running off the soldiers' helmets and running in small streams along the bottoms of the walls.

Erica watched as several soldiers climbed up on top of the crate and unbolted the top and slid it off. Other soldiers unbolted the sides of the crate and let them fall. A loud crash echoed among the ruins as the wood hit the cobblestones, punctuated by a rumble of thunder from overhead. Von Krupt directed the soldiers to cart away the sides and top of the crate, and the portal generator was left sitting on the wooden bottom of the crate.

"Erica."

She turned and saw Kroenen standing beside her, the glass eyes of his mask glinting in the glare of the spotlights.

"We're finished. Do you like the decorations?" he asked, sounding like he was asking if she liked the garlands he had put on a Christmas tree.

Kroenen gestured upwards and she gasped as she realized that the walls surrounding the courtyard were now hung with lengths of black fabric with a swastika and a red dragon emblazoned on them. Between the soldiers and Von Krupt she hadn't even realized that they were there.

"They're a nice touch, aren't they?" Kroenen asked.

Erica just looked at him. He laughed and then leapt up on top of the metal platform of the generator. His jackboots clanged against the metal as he landed gracefully. He turned and gazed down at her through the dark lenses of his mask, and for some reason, this struck fear in her heart. It might have been her guilty conscience, it might have been her dread of what would happen in a few moments, or it might have been something deeper, but she was afraid nonetheless.

Kroenen leaned down and offered his gloved hand to her. She hesitated for a moment, gazing up at his masked face. She took his hand. She couldn't help it, she trusted him, even though she was afraid of him. _What a strange conflict of emotions, _she thought as Kroenen effortlessly pulled her up onto the generator.

Erica stood beside him, silently supervising the soldier's work. She tried not to shiver as freezing rain ran down her face and the back of her neck. Unpleasant didn't even begin to describe the shock she experienced each time a cold rain drop rolled down her warm skin.

_At least it will keep me awake, _she thought, _As if nerves weren't enough._

Kroenen seemed indifferent about the rain. He stood with his hands clasped behind his back and rain sliding down his black trench coat and his mask as he monitored the Nazis' work.

Erica tore her eyes away from him as she felt her stomach twist with guilt. She was feeling increasingly nervous as the moment drew nearer for her to reveal that she was a traitor. Inside she was trembling with nerves, fear, and anticipation, but on the outside she was as calm and collected as ever. If it had been one thing she had learned in the past few years, it was how to be a good actress and how to disguise her true emotions.

_I hope the Allied Forces come, _she thought, _I'm going to have to do _something _very soon, and if they're late—_

Her grey eyes fell on a few Nazi technicians and scientists, marked by their white uniforms that covered them from head to foot, who were checking and rechecking the control panel they were setting up. A few soldiers marched past them, carrying boxes and bundles. A cloud of white fog drifted from their mouths as they breathed. The other soldiers, watched closely by Von Krupt, were setting up the floodlights around the portal generator. The soldiers did their best, their cold fingers fumbling in the dark, the only light coming from the occasional flashlight or intermittent flicker of lightening.

Meanwhile, just up the hill, crouching behind the low ruin of a wall, was Professor Broom. Sergeant Whitman and various other Allied Soldiers were nearby, hiding behind shrubbery and sections of the ruins. All were soaking wet and cold, especially Professor Broom, who was wearing a long coat over a suit. Sgt. Whitman was peering over the wall, a pair of binoculars pressed to his eyes, watching dozens of Nazi soldiers as they swarmed like ants among the thick stone walls and archways.

"Here for the sheep! We just _had_ to get someone with a sense of humor…" Whitman was muttering. He was clearly still getting over his shock that the Nazis were _actually_ there. "Hey, Professor!" Whitman said, "What's on those flags? I've never seen those before."

"The swastika is obviously for the Nazis, but the dragon and so on are for the Thule Occult Society." Broom explained.

"And the freak?—in the gas mask." asked Whitman as he handed the binoculars to Professor Broom.

Broom gazed through the rain streaked lenses and adjusted the focus so the blurry images became clear. The first thing he saw was a man monitoring the Nazis' work from where he was standing on the top of some sort of machine. The man was dressed head to foot in the black leather of an SS uniform and all of his skin was covered—even his face was covered by a strange metal mask. And it was this mask that made it easy to identify the man.

"Karl Ruprecht Kroenen, one of the Reich's top Scientists. He's Hitler's Top Assassin and Head of the Thule Occult Society." Broom lowered the binoculars and passed them back to Whitman. "If he's here, this is worse than I thought."

Whitman shot him a look. "Imagine that, something worse than that 'destruction of the world' thing you've been going on about." he said sarcastically, "You keep going on about the 'parabnormal' crap of yours, but all I see are some Nazis who shouldn't be here and who are going to be dead." The Sgt. looked into the binoculars again, and Professor Broom just waited. Because Kroenen was here, Broom knew it was only a matter of time before Whitman would be a firm believer in the paranormal.

"Who's the one beside Kroenen?" Whitman asked.

"Beside Kroenen?" Broom asked, taking the binoculars the Sgt. offered to him, "I didn't see anyone there."

As he gazed through the binoculars, Broom suddenly spotted a young woman standing beside Kroenen. She, like Kroenen, was wearing an SS uniform, though she had a crimson rose in the breast pocket of her uniform. _I guess I didn't see her before because she was standing behind Kroenen, _Broom thought, as he continued to study her, _She's very tall for a woman. And—can it be? She isn't Aryan!_ She could only be one person: Erica Schwarz. _Good Lord we're in trouble, _Professor Broom thought, _This is really serious. _For a moment he remembered reading about her and saying that she was someone he wouldn't want to meet on a dark night. And here he was, in the middle of the night, with a hurricane raging around him, and The Angel of Death was standing not more than a hundred feet away from him. _God has an interesting sense of humor,_ Broom thought, reflecting on the irony.

"So? Who is she?" asked Sgt. Whitman, interrupting the Professor's thoughts.

"Erica Schwarz."

Whitman gave him a blank look.

"She's more commonly known as The Angel of Death," explained Broom. "Her crimes include countless murders and practicing black magic, among other things."

"Oh, I've heard of her all right. Now translate for me. Does all that mean I can shoot her?" asked Sergeant Whitman, scowling angrily as he looked in Erica's direction.

Broom sighed. "I would think the answer is obvious."

Whitman shot a look at him that clearly said to stop using big words.

"Yes, you can shoot her!" said Professor Broom, feeling exasperated.

Among the ruins, Erica jumped off the generator platform after Kroenen. As soon as she was off of it the giant ring rose up out of the platform and the semicircular disks in the ring's center moved into place as the giant ring began spinning. Kroenen signaled for more floodlights to be turned on. The soldiers scrambled to comply, and the floodlights snapped on, shedding an eerie, cold light over the ruins.

Erica was experiencing the all too familiar sensation of having butterflies in her stomach. She could hear her heart pounding loudly in her heart, and the fluttering vibrations were making her queasy. She almost couldn't bear to stand still, but she forced herself to remain standing beside Kroenen in a dignified and imposing manner. Trying to be discreet, she glanced out of the corner of her eyes at Grigory and Ilsa.

Ilsa was still holding an umbrella over herself and Grigory in what was probably a vain attempt to stay dry. Grigory's chest was bare except for the long robe he was wearing, but despite this, he didn't look like he was cold. Ilsa and Grigory were standing close together and Ilsa was smiling adoringly at her lover and master. They were talking but Erica couldn't hear what they said. But her eyes caught the slight movement as Grigory pressed a leather book into Ilsa's hands. Erica's stomach clenched. _Oh no, _she thought, _That book can only be one thing—it will tell Ilsa how to bring him back should he die. Or get as close to death as he can be. I'll have to try and get the book away from her. The explosion will kill Grigory, and I can't have him coming back in the future to finish what he's started._

Erica watched as a sparkling tear ran down Ilsa's cheek—and then her eyes fell on Von Krupt, who had out his pocket watch and was striding towards Ilsa and Grigory. _I swear, that man has a death wish, _Erica thought as she watched Von Krupt interrupt the pair.

Ilsa glared at Von Krupt, and if looks could kill, the General would have been struck dead where he stood. Von Krupt said something else and then the three of them started toward the steps. Von Krupt strode beside Grigory and Ilsa, who held her umbrella to shield her master from the pouring rain. They were just starting to pass the portal generator, whose colossal steel and copper clockworks were gleaming in the floodlights, when Grigory stopped.

"Wait," Erica heard Grigory say, "There's one last thing I must attend to. As a precaution. Wait here."

Erica watched as Grigory stepped away from Ilsa and Von Krupt and came towards her. "Erica, come here." Grigory commanded, gesturing to her.

"Yes, Master." she said respectfully, though the words felt like poison on her tongue.

Mechanically, Erica obeyed him as her heart pounded even louder in her chest. Kroenen watched her go and then turned back to supervising the soldiers.

When Erica reached Grigory, she was startled to see that he was smiling at her. It was very disconcerting.

"You've come such a long way." Grigory said proudly.

_You have no idea,_ Erica thought.

"If not for you I wouldn't have taken any precautions," he said, "But now all has been attended to. Except for one thing. You."

"Me?" Erica asked, both worried and confused.

"Should something happen to me, Ilsa will live forever and stay young so that she can bring me back again. Kroenen is no concern: he's among the un-dead and so cannot die. But you are not like them, are you?"

"No." Erica answered, not sure if she liked where this was going. _At least I know what he and Ilsa were talking about. I suppose that's another hurdle I'll have to overcome._

To her shock, Grigory suddenly reached out and grabbed her arm. He pulled her close to him and stared down into her face. Erica desperately resisted her overwhelming desire to pull away from him. She stared up into his wild eyes and felt fear bubble up inside her, but she couldn't look away.

"For you," he whispered, "youth and eternal life."

He gently ran his hand over her face. The unwanted contact made Erica's skin crawl, and she tried not to shudder as she felt black magic sliding over her skin and seeping deep into her bones until it was a part of her. Even when the feeling of extreme cold disappeared she could still feel the black magic inside her. It was sort of like a shadow that she could _feel_ instead of _see_. Grigory took his hand away and Erica forced a smile of the utmost gratitude onto her face.

"Thank you, Master." she whispered, her voice almost failing her at her internal horror.

Grigory smiled back, his eyes glittering, and then turned away and returned to Ilsa.

Erica stood still for a moment, struggling with herself. While youth and immortality would be useful thing to most people, to her this only caused her horror. The black magic was a part of her and she knew she would never be able to get rid of it. It was like a dark ink stain spreading over her soul. She shivered—

"Erica?"

— and spun around.

"Kroenen." she said, recognizing him.

"Are you alright?"

"No." Erica answered, the word falling from her lips before she could stop it. She saw Kroenen lean forward towards her, ready to listen. "But it doesn't matter. There are more important things than myself," she added. She glanced towards the steps, where Grigory, Ilsa, and Von Krupt were standing. Grigory looked like he was irritated with the General, who was frowning and saying something in his curt voice. "Come, Grigory will need our help." Erica said.

Kroenen stiffly straightened up and glanced towards the steps. "Yes, he will." He said, sounding disappointed.

By the time the two of them reached the steps, Ilsa was smiling cruelly and confidently and Von Krupt looked very affronted. His frown was even deeper and his dark scarlet glasses flashed as he descended the stairs. Erica passed him as she climbed the stairs and saw the General glare at her as they passed one another. She ignored him and stood on the stairs surveying the area. Almost everything was ready.

Behind her she could hear Kroenen helping Grigory with the mecha glove, and as two Nazi soldiers passed her, she followed them down the steps. She made sure that the cables and hoses they were carrying were correctly attached to the machine. After all, she wanted to make sure the explosion of the generator "killed" Grigory. Around her all other work was grinding to a halt as the soldiers took up their positions.

When the cables were attached, Erica went over to a nearby wall and waited, watching as Kroenen messed with various parts of the mecha glove.

"What we do tonight can never be undone!" Grigory announced. "We will open a portal and awaken the Ogdru Jahad: The seven Gods of Chaos. Our enemies will be destroyed. And from the ashes a new Eden will arise."

_Not if I can help it,_ Erica thought.

Kroenen descended the stairs and joined her at her side. Erica looked at him and felt tears spring up in her eyes. She blinked them away and turned back to watch Grigory standing on the dais.

Grigory looked at the machine. "Ragnarok, Anung Ia Anung." he whispered.

He flexed his fingers and in response the metal ring spun even faster around the machine's central axis. An invisible blast of energy forced the falling rain to swerve momentarily away from Grigory's body and the machine.

A blade of light opened in the middle of the spinning ring and quickly expanded into a gaping cosmic slit that resembled a black, staring eye. The burst of accompanying light reflected eerily in Grigory's eyes until they seemed to cease to be eyes and were only glowing holes. The edges of the cosmic slit sizzled with an energetic electric blue light, and on the other side an alien galaxy was sparkling.

To Erica the cosmic slit was breathtakingly beautiful—beautiful except for what she knew was lurking there—something that she knew was absolutely terrifying. Suddenly, a work light tore loose and flew into the cosmic slit. Erica watched as foot after foot of extension cord uncoiled and slid like a snake through the hole.

_Soon, _Erica thought, glancing at Kroenen and putting her hand on the gun on her belt, _Soon I'll have to act. And when I do, God protect me!_

Author's Notes: Major, humongo, ginormous CLIFFIE! Part Two will be coming very soon since I'm almost finished writing it. Again, sorry for the long wait. Please tell me if Whitman, Broom, and everyone else are in character, I did my best to make sure that they were. Also, if anyone knows what happened to Von Krupt after or during the battle, please tell me because I need it for Part Two and the Epilogue. I also need to know where Kroenen and Ilsa disappear to after the battle and how they get there. _And_ I need your help on the sequel I'm writing, so please send me ideas! Just put them in your review or email them to me if you get some ideas later. Please review!


	18. A Night in the Rain, Part Two

**Chapter Eighteen: A Night in the Rain, Part Two**

Disclaimer: Hellboy characters do not belong to me. However, Erica is mine.

Author's Notes: Thanks muchly for reviewing Psycho Llama, Gestalt, and Scorponis! And extra thanks for sending me ideas, I really need them! I love you guys! Sorry, this would have been ready a day or two ago, but the WWII theater production at school has been taking up a lot of my time, plus I went on a fieldtrip to the Holocaust museum in Washington, D.C…Anyways, this is what you've been waiting for: the battle where everything Erica has been hiding comes out, and results in Kroenen having to make a difficult choice: To kill his friend, or to suffer the wrath of the Ogdru Jahad. General violence, mild language, and gore warning, but if you've lasted this far you should be fine. Besides, most of you are Kroenen fans, so you should be more than able to handle it! "Auf Wiedersehen" is goodbye, and I think you all know the rest of the German by now.

**Psycho Llama: **Hehe! Cliffies are so evil—and I love writing them! Mwhahaha! watches Kroenen chase sheep Teehee! The mental image of that is so funny!

**Gestalt: **More sheep chasing? Perhaps I should write a side story on that, since people seem to like them so much…ponders…And don't you worry, you can bet she's going to run into Kroenen in my sequel!

**Scorponis: **Haha! Cliffhangers! Suspense! Don't they just kill you? And they're so much fun to write! I'm already working on the sequel, so you'll be seeing that soon.

"Stand up for what is right, even if you're standing alone."—Unknown

Erica's muscles were tensed and ready for action. Her stomach clenched in fear as she gazed at the cosmic slit crackling with energy. She knew she was teetering on the brink of the point when she would have to act, and her thoughts darted back and forth as she tried to decide if now was the moment to do it—

She froze. Out of the corner of her eye, Erica saw a person standing behind a wall on the outskirts of the ruins. No sooner had she spotted it, than she saw another shadowy person pull the other person down behind the wall, whispering threats. Her heart leapt into her throat, propelled both by relief and fear.

_They're here! _She thought excitedly, _The Allied Forces came! They got my letter!_

Quickly, her eyes darted left and right to make sure she was the only on that had seen and heard the Allied soldiers. Her eyes fell on a Nazi scientist, who was turned toward the wall and gazing at it. Erica's heart froze and then plummeted so fast that she felt sick. The Allied soldiers hadn't been fast enough, the scientist had heard them. Her heart continued to race in something close to panic as the Nazi scientist took a few steps toward the wall the soldiers were hiding behind. Compulsively, Erica opened her mouth, and was about to order the scientist back to his place, when it occurred to her that if she did she would attract Kroenen's attention.

She glanced at Kroenen, who was standing on her left. Kroenen was still completely focused on the portal, and she could tell from his stance that he was pleased with how well everything was going. _I can't get him involved—not yet. If he gets involved, he'll investigate what the scientist saw, which will ruin the ambush the Allied soldiers have planned._ So Erica stayed silent, anxiously watching the scientist's progress out of the corner of her eye.

The Nazi scientist slowly approached the wall where he had heard the voices. Erica saw something small and oval-shaped thrown over the wall, which was followed by another. The scientist looked down as they landed next to him.

"Grenade! Grenade!" he cried, raising the alarm.

At the scientist's cries, Erica whirled around, her heart pounding in her chest. She was just in time to see a flash of fire as the grenades exploded. Propelled by the explosion, the scientist went flying through the air—and into the electric blue side of the open portal. Everyone present watched with horrified fascination as the scientist's clothes and skin dissolved, leaving a screaming skeleton that disintegrated into dust. The scientist's shriek hung in the air for a moment before it was interrupted by another explosion and a blast of heat as another grenade exploded. The explosion caused a section of the ruins to collapse on the scientist working at the control panel for the portal generator. He was crushed instantly.

The second explosion sent the Nazi soldiers into action. A few seconds later, the squad of Allies stormed the area, running right into the Nazi soldiers.

And then all Hell broke loose!

The air exploded with screams and the roar of gunfire as thunder and lightning crashed overhead and the shrieking wind drove the pouring rain against the stones of the abbey. But the violence of the storm above was outmatched by the violence of the raging battle below. Yelling, gunshots, and exploding grenades coupled with the thunder, falling rain, and the darkness made it impossible to tell which side was winning, or if one side was winning at all.

Erica saw a group of Allies rushing towards her, their guns aiming right at her. She instinctively reached for the baton swords strapped to her legs—but a pair of hands pushed her from behind, knocking her to the ground and out of harm's way. She looked up just in time to see Kroenen standing over her holding a handgun and aiming at the oncoming soldiers.

BAM! BAM! BAM! BAM!

Four gunshots rang out and four of the Allied soldiers collapsed, their legs shattered by the bullets. Suddenly she realized that only _three_ of them were wearing soldier's uniforms, the other was wearing a suit with a long dark coat over it, and clutched in his hand was the leather strap of a wooden box. _Professor Trevor Broom! _Erica thought, realizing who the man had to be. Professor Broom's face was contorted with pain as he tried in vain to get up—Kroenen had shot him in the knee and Erica knew there was no way that the Professor would be able to stand, let alone walk.

"Erica."

She looked up. Kroenen held out his hand and instinctively she took it, allowing him to pull her to her feet. Screams and shouts, explosions, and gunfire were all around them as the battle was joined. Kroenen pulled her close and leaned in towards her.

"Have fun, my Angel of Death," he whispered in her ear, "Show them the powers of Hell."

Then he released her. Erica watched as he ran and leapt over a wall, his trench coat billowing out behind him as he landed on his feet. He immediately shot down four more soldiers. Discovering that the handgun was now empty, he threw it aside.

TCHKKK!

Kroenen flung out his arms and extended two long, gleaming blades from the steel bands on his wrists. He crossed them in front of his face and then took on an entire group of soldiers, mowing through them. Erica glanced at the portal generator and then back to Kroenen. _If I do this now he won't see me until it's too late,_ she thought as she fingered the grenade in her pocket, her heart hammering with fear and excitement. She looked at Kroenen one last time and then took a step in the direction of the portal generator—and then stopped as her eyes fell on Professor Broom, who was crawling over the ground, leaving a trail of blood behind him. Behind her she heard tortured screams as Kroenen slaughtered the soldiers that came near him. The screams tugged at her heart. All at once, she realized what she had to do. _I have to fight Kroenen,_ she thought, _it's the only way to stop him from massacring the Allies. I'm the only one that can do it, the only one that has a chance against him. He taught me and I can use that knowledge against him._

_But fighting him would be suicide! _said a voice in her head, _He'll kill you before you get a chance to destroy the generator!_

Another scream came from behind her. That decided the situation for her. _I'll fight him. The portal generator will have to wait, _she thought. She pulled the handgun from her belt, and spying a Nazi soldier running towards Professor Broom, she coolly took aim and pulled the trigger.

BAM!

The Nazi soldier collapsed instantly, the bullet had struck him in the heart. Professor Broom looked up as the Nazi fell to the ground not more than a yard or so away from him. Shaken, he looked up to see who had saved him, and to his shock and horror, saw Erica Schwarz holding a handgun and aiming it in his general direction. He froze, expecting to die, but instead her strange gray eyes traveled to his face. Their eyes locked and she nodded at him. Then she lowered the gun and ran off in the same direction that Kroenen had gone. Professor Broom stared after her in disbelief. _What just happened? _He wondered, _Did the Angel of Death just shoot someone on her _own_ side? Did she just _save _my life?_ But he left off wondering as he spotted a wounded soldier lying several yards away. But that wasn't what was so important. What was important was that Broom could see the grenades attached to the soldier's belt. _If I can crawl that far and get a grenade, I can blow up the portal generator before anything comes through, _he thought. He immediately put his plan into action.

Erica ran through the chaos of the battle, dodging grenades and ducking as Allied soldiers shot in her direction. She ran and leapt over a wall and landed on her feet on the edge of the courtyard where Kroenen was fighting an entire group of Allied soldiers. He was killing them with surgical precision, aiming for arteries as his blades sliced right through the soldiers' weapons and then into their flesh and bones. Kroenen's back was to her, and Erica knew she would never have a better chance than this. She raised her handgun and aimed it at the middle of Kroenen's back. She gently rested her finger on the trigger, hesitating to pull it. Her arm shook and she bit her lip. _I don't want to hurt him, but I have to stop him,_ she thought. Her thoughts were interrupted by the horrible sound of bone snapping as Kroenen broke a soldier's leg as easily as if it had been a dry twig. She aimed at Kroenen's back, trying to keep her trembling arm as steady as possible._ The right thing isn't always the easiest, _she thought. And just as the last soldier in front of Kroenen fell, she forced herself to pull the trigger.

BANG!

The sound of the gunshot rang through the air, and for Erica it was louder and more piercing than any of the battle noise around her.

Kroenen felt the impact and a tearing sensation as a bullet ripped into his back. Unconcerned, he whirled around, his knives raised to strike down his opponent. But instead of an Allied soldier he saw Erica aiming her handgun at him. He paused and his gaze traveled from the anguish on her face to her outstretched arm, still aiming the handgun in his direction. He stared at Erica in confusion and disbelief. _It was a mistake, an accident—an accident,_ he told himself.

_But it can't be,_ hissed a dark voice in the back of his head, _It can't be an accident. You know Erica never misses._

_But if it wasn't an accident—Has she gone crazy?_ Kroenen thought, desperately trying to justify her actions to himself,_ Is that what's been wrong with her?_

Erica threw the handgun aside, knowing it was useless against him. The handgun skittered across the rain slicked cobblestones and came to a stop at the base of a ruined wall, but Erica wasn't watching it. Her despair filled eyes never left Kroenen's face.

"I'm sorry," she said, facing him, unshed tears glittering in her grey eyes, "My God I'm sorry, Kroenen! Forgive me!"

As the fighting raged on around them, Kroenen watched her incredulously as she violently flung out her arms and extended her own wrist blades. She faced him, standing in an attack stance.

"What are you doing?"Kroenen yelled, fairly sure that she had gone mad.

"I don't want to fight you, Kroenen," she said, "But I don't have a choice anymore."

Erica's answer threw him even deeper into confusion. "What? Why?" he asked.

But Kroenen's words fell on deaf ears—Erica was past talking. He saw her shift ever so slightly as she braced herself, and then suddenly—she lunged at him.

Even in the seconds as she ran at him he didn't understand what was happening. For once in his life Kroenen had no idea what he should do. There were no words that could describe his complete shock as Erica charged at him. In fact, he was so surprised that he didn't move out of the way and her body slammed into his, knocking him backwards. He swiftly regained his balance and faced her as she struck out at him. Almost mechanically he blocked the blow and deflected her blade to the side, being cautious not to hurt her. Being careful of her blades, he grabbed her wrists to stop her from attacking him. Erica struggled fiercely, turning and twisting, but he only held on tighter. As she struggled something silver slipped out from under her shirt and hung around her neck, sparkling in the flashes of lightning. Kroenen saw it and for some reason it caught his attention and he stared at it, trying to figure out what it was. It wasn't the silver watch he had given her, and it wasn't the Iron Cross she was wearing. Suddenly he realized what it was.

_It's a crucifix,_ he thought, _It's her crucifix!_

He felt like the freezing cold rain had come through his clothes and drenched him in ice water. His thoughts froze—even his mechanical heart seemed to stop as he stared at the crucifix hanging from her necklace. In his mind he could almost hear the puzzle pieces clicking into place. Her answer that she didn't have a choice—her strange behavior—her fear of him—not letting him touch her—the lying— the strange images he had found in her head—her dread of October ninth—the image of obsidian hall and the blood spattered body that he had found in her thoughts— in that moment it all came clear and it dawned on him what was going on.

_She's betrayed the Occult,_ he realized, _The bloodstained body in the obsidian hall was hers as she imagined it!_ Almost instantly he tried to reject this painful, horrifying idea. _No!_ His mind screamed. _NO! It can't be!_

In one swift movement he retracted his wrist blades and roughly grabbed her shoulders. Erica was so astonished by this unexpected action that she didn't even resist him as he pulled her close to him. Kroenen's gloved fingers grasped the chain of the silver cross necklace and he ripped it from around her neck, leaving a red welt on her skin. He stared hatefully at the crucifix as it dangled from his fist and then swiftly turned his attention back to Erica, who was trembling in his grasp.

"So this is why!" he shouted angrily, shaking the fist holding the necklace in her face, "This is why! You've betrayed us!" He paused for a moment, the enormity of the situation sinking in, "You've _betrayed_ us!" He said again, his voice full of anguish. He bowed his head, weighed down by heart wrenching grief and disbelief that this was actually happening. He saw Erica staring up at him, her face full of guilt and her gray eyes wide with fear.

"Yes," she whispered softly, "Yes I have."

He stared at her in silent astonishment and growing horror. He couldn't believe it. He was in a living nightmare. _This can't be happening! It can't be true!_ He thought. But Erica had admitted to it—it _was_ true. She _was_ a traitor. She _had_ betrayed the Occult and the Nazis. _NO!_ He thought, _NO! Erica, why?_ _Why?_ What he had to do hit him like a ton of bricks: he had to kill her. It was the law, and it was what the Ogdru Jahad demanded that he do to her. He was the Head of the Thule Society and it was his duty and his alone. Inside his head he could 'hear' the Ogdru Jahad roaring with fury, ordering Erica's destruction. Kroenen looked down at her pale face. He couldn't bear it—he couldn't bear the thought of killing her. But if he didn't he would be disobeying the Ogdru Jahad, something that was just as bad as the thought of killing his friend.

_How could she do this to me?_ he thought, his grief and disbelief abruptly turning into surging, boiling anger, _How could she force this on me? She knows the consequences! She knows what I have to do now!_ He looked at her and felt a terrible rage building up inside him.

"Damn you!" he yelled angrily, as he forcefully pushed her away from him.

Erica stumbled backwards and her feet slipped on the rain and blood slicked cobblestones. She fell and landed on a small flight of cold stone steps. She tumbled down them and came to a stop at the bottom, lying on her back and minus her hat, which had fallen off. She started to sit up and winced. She could already feel the massive bruises she would have from her fall. Kroenen appeared at the top of the stairs, looming ominously above her. He held out his arms at his sides and his wrist blades smoothly shot out of his sleeves again.

"Damn you! DAMN YOU!" he yelled harshly as he started down the stairs.

Erica hastily scrambled upright—he struck at her and she just barely brought her own blades up in time to block the blow. She backed away from him but he kept on coming, his blades slicing towards her stomach and neck.

"TRAITOR!" he yelled, "DAMN YOU!"

Erica blocked the blows by crossing her blades in front of her. The two identical sets of knives screeched as they struck each other—but Kroenen didn't stop. He continued pushing on the blades, trying to force her down to the ground. And it was working: already her legs were beginning to buckle under the pressure. The next thing Erica knew she was kneeling on the ground with Kroenen mercilessly pushing down on her with all of his weight and strength. Erica pushed back, knowing that she would die if she didn't get out of this. She spotted her only option and went for it: she pushed upwards against him as hard as she could and then she dove for the ground and rolled between his legs.

She had barely managed to get to her feet when Kroenen was after her again.

For Erica this battle was nothing like combat training when Kroenen had had enough control to stop his blades less than a hair from actually harming her. But now he was in a murderous fury, blades whirling and stabbing with the intent of killing her, hacking and slashing relentlessly. Erica was battling for her life and she was terrified. She couldn't remember ever being this afraid of him. She realized that in all these years she had never seen him this angry, this murderous, this bent on spilling blood. _I hope the Allies destroy the generator before it's too late,_ she thought, beginning to regret her decision to fight him, _because Kroenen will probably kill me before I ever get the chance._

In another part of the ruins Ilsa was crouched on the stairs, shielding her face with an arm as grenades exploded and bullets ricocheted off the stone steps. In her other hand she was holding a handgun and shooting down any Allied soldiers that got too close to her. Her eyes darted over the ruins, anxiously trying to find Kroenen. Lightning flashed overhead, lighting up the ruins and allowing her to spot him. He was fighting someone and yelling angrily, and the person he was fighting was—_Erica?_ Ilsa thought, bewildered, _What the _Hell_ is going on?_ Kroenen and Erica were fighting like demons and soldiers from both sides were actually scrambling to get out of the way of the dueling pair.

"TRAITOR!" Ilsa heard Kroenen yell at Erica.

_Traitor?_ Ilsa wondered. Then she realized what was going on. _Erica has betrayed us!_

"That _arschloch_!" Ilsa cursed angrily, her beautiful face contorting in rage.

Ilsa had no second thoughts. She immediately aimed her handgun at Erica, waiting for Erica to hold still long enough so that she could shoot her. Maybe it was the Ogdru Jahad influencing her, maybe it was Grigory, but as far as Ilsa was concerned Erica was a traitor and was jeopardizing all they had worked for. And for that Erica deserved to die. Erica dashed behind a Nazi soldier and Kroenen ran him through instead of her. As he shook his blades free of the dead man's body, Erica braced herself to attack—and Ilsa pulled the trigger.

BANG!

At that exact moment Kroenen backhanded Erica across the right side of her face. Erica fell to the ground and Ilsa's bullet flew harmlessly past. Erica lay on the ground, temporarily stunned by the blow. _Good Lord he's strong,_ she thought dazedly. She felt a shadow fall over her and glanced up to see Kroenen standing over her. He reached down, grasped the front of her uniform, and then in one movement he picked her up and slammed her back against a wall. He pushed her against the stones, pinning her to the wall with one hand. Still dazed, Erica was unable to do anything to defend herself. _Do something! _Her mind screamed, _He's going to kill you!_

Her heart raced as she saw Kroenen's blades arc up into the air above her head. For her it was almost as if they were moving in slow motion. She could hear every beat of her pounding heart, could hear herself gasping for breath. In a distant way, she could hear the roar of gunfire and the piercing sound of screams. Kroenen's knives glittered in the dim light as they neared the top of their arc. She remembered, suddenly, Christmas Eve, when she was eleven, playing checkers in the living room with her little sister. There was a warm, roaring fire in the fireplace, and the Christmas tree had a beautiful angel on top. Her parents and Grandfather were sitting on the sofa, watching A Christmas Carol on TV and drinking hot chocolate. She could almost feel the warmth from the fire, and smell the hot chocolate, she could almost hear her Grandfather's hearty laugh. But then she felt the freezing rain falling on her upturned face and trickling down her neck. She could smell blood and fire. The vision of Christmas Eve melted away, and for a moment she saw a glimpse of the day when Kroenen had taught her to dance. Then that too faded and disappeared.

The knives came to the top of their arc. Her heart stopped. Erica knew she was going to die. _I wonder if I'll go to Heaven or Hell?_ she mused. Then time speeded up. Erica saw Kroenen's knives come whistling down and she squeezed her eyes shut. She felt the muscles in her body tense in anticipation of the blow—but it didn't come.

She opened her eyes. The blades were only inches from her head and they were _shaking!_ Kroenen was trembling, he was hesitating to kill her! She couldn't believe it. Her gray eyes darted to Kroenen's mask. There was no emotion there, but still, he had stopped mere inches from killing her. _Why? Why is he hesitating?_ She wondered. Kroenen didn't answer her unspoken question. He continued to stare at her, his blades inches from killing her, his clockwork clicking and whirring roughly as if to express his indecision.

Erica didn't wait to see what would happen. She thrust out her hands and shoved him as hard as she could, pushing him off balance. She dove to the side and ran.

Kroenen stayed where he was and watched Erica disappear among the turmoil of the battle. _I'll deal with _you_ later,_ he thought angrily.

Full of frustration and anger, Kroenen ran at the first enemy soldiers he laid eyes on and brutally killed them, taking pleasure in their screams of pain. When Kroenen was finished with them he looked up and noticed a man crawling across the ground. He stalked toward him.

Erica ran as if the hounds of Hell were after her. She couldn't believe how close she had been to dying. At any moment she expected to feel a cold knife stab her or a hand to grab her around the neck. But when neither of these things happened, she looked over her shoulder to see where Kroenen was. To her relief he wasn't behind her. _But that means he's probably somewhere else around here, waiting to jump out at me, _she thought, fear griping at her heart as her eyes darted from side to side. She still didn't see him.

"_Scheiße_." Erica cursed, moving cautiously among the ruins. Then she saw him.

Not far from her, Kroenen was stalking towards a wounded man that was crawling across the ground. _Professor Broom! _Erica thought, recognizing the man. Without a second thought she ran towards Kroenen, hoping she would get there in time to stop him.

Kroenen was only halfway to the Professor when somebody cannoned into him so hard that he was knocked off balance. He crashed into a nearby wall and the person slammed into him a second time. He caught a glimpse of the face and realized it was Erica—

—Professor Broom heard the sound of scuffling boots behind him and looked over his shoulder. To his amazement and complete shock, he saw Erica Schwarz _fighting_ Kroenen—

—Erica saw Kroenen's left arm, and almost without thinking, she stabbed his arm. The blade went straight through his arm and pinned his wrist to the wall.

"You may kill me, but you'll _never_ forget me!" she yelled.

The words were barely out of her mouth before Kroenen's fingers closed on her right wrist so tightly that she cried out in pain. He yanked her hand away from him so the blade slid out of his arm. He twisted her arm and threw her to the ground. Erica's face crashed into the cold cobblestones. She started to push herself up from the ground—a boot crashed into her ribs and the impact sent her tumbling. She landed on her back and this time she saw Kroenen a second before he kicked her in the ribs again. Fire seared over her ribs and she gasped for breath—another kick and she heard a dull, snapping sound from her side.

"Uunhh." She moaned.

She tried to scramble upright, but she was only halfway there when Kroenen seized her arm in a grip that felt like steel hawsers. _I guess I only damaged his wrist, _she thought dazedly.

Kroenen swung her around and threw her against a stone wall so hard that she actually bounced off of it. Erica gasped for breath and staggered as Kroenen rapidly closed in on her. As his arms reached towards her, she half-raised an arm in a desperate attempt to defend herself, but she was too slow. His arms thrust out at her, pushing her against the wall so hard that her skull crashed against it and stars exploded in front of her eyes. Her limbs felt like lead—she couldn't move fast enough. It was like the air had turned into frozen mud. A second later she could feel the stones biting into her back as he crushed her exhausted body against the stone wall. She struggled weakly, straining to escape, but she knew it was no use. He had trapped her against the wall.

She shook as she gazed up at his frowning mask in terror and could see her reflection staring back at her from the dark lenses that hid his lidless blue eyes. The hellish light from the explosions and the cold glare of the lightning threw shadows over his mask. And as the cold night air rasped in her throat and her heart hammered in her chest Erica knew she was staring into the face of Death himself. She gaped up at him as he raised his arm, her eyes locked on the cold blade as he aimed the lethally sharp point at her. He leaned in towards her, his clockwork ticking ominously and echoing every thundering beat of her own heart.

"No second chances this time," Kroenen hissed, "Now you will pay for your treachery!"

She watched frozen with horror as the blade rushed at her in a blur of silver—and then she was screaming in agony as Kroenen violently thrust the blade into her shoulder, slicing through skin and muscle until the blade struck bone and stopped. A strange, sickening sensation swept over her, accompanying the excruciating pain: she could actually _feel_ the blade embedded in her shoulder and it was as icy and sharp as an icicle. She couldn't move, she couldn't breathe, she couldn't do anything but stare straight ahead at Kroenen and feel the metal embedded in her shoulder. But even then she wasn't really seeing. She was only dimly aware that he moved and only really recognized it when the icicle piercing her tugged. A pained, struggling gasp escaped her parted lips as he jerked the blade free of her shoulder. He stepped away from her, and suddenly finding herself free, she staggered and nearly fell. A haze seemed to descend on her brain and in a dazed, automatic way, she retracted her wrist blades before she leaned back against the wall for support. Tears slid freely down her face as her pale hands clutched spider-like at her wounded shoulder. She could feel a hot, thick liquid sliding over her skin and soaking through her clothes. Erica awkwardly pulled her hands away from her shoulder and glanced down at the bloody wound. She immediately looked away as bile rose in her throat. Dizziness overcame her. Her legs buckled under her and she slowly slid down the wall, gasping for breath like a fish out of water.

Erica collapsed onto the muddy ground and leaned back against the wall. She stared at the ground soaked with rain and blood as she tried to deal with the pain. Her eyes fell on something so unusual that she focused all of her attention on it. It was a single blood red rose, the same rose that Kroenen had given to her only hours ago. _So beautiful, _she thought dazedly, _But like me, laying in the mud._ A boot abruptly crashed down on the rose, crushing it into the mud. The pair of boots took a few more steps towards her and then stopped a few inches away. Erica summoned all her energy and looked up. She found herself at Kroenen's feet, looking up at his mask and bloodstained leather uniform. Tiny vein-like rivers of blood were tracing their way down his wrist blades, left in the wake of a few large crimson droplets. Kroenen looked down at her, the round glass eyes of his mask flashing in the glare of the floodlights. _Go ahead and watch me die, _she thought bitterly as she gasped for breath. Almost instantly the tone of her thoughts switched direction, _I'm sorry, so sorry._ Each breath she took was painful, like her lungs were being stabbed with a knife each time she inhaled. She could hear her heart pounding in her ears. And it was because of that sound that she was slowly beginning to realize something that was shocking.

She was _alive. _He hadn't stabbed her in the heart—it was still beating!

_Why didn't he kill me? _She wondered, _Why only wound me?_

Kroenen looked down at the beautifully ruined young woman lying at his feet. Her face was turned up to him and tears were spilling down her face and mingling with the cold rain. Her skin was unnaturally pale in the light, almost as if she were dead, and her hair was soaking wet and clinging to her neck and cheeks. For him the expression of agony in Erica's grey eyes was heart-wrenching—even though he didn't have one. _And think how horrible it would be if I hadn't had a change of heart at the last minute_. He shuddered. Because of his momentum he hadn't been able to stop. Instead he had altered the angle of the blade so it would wound Erica instead of killing her.

Even now he could 'hear' the Ogdru Jahad roaring at him in fury, their voices like acid and fire in his head. _What are you doing? Kill her!_ They demanded.

But he just couldn't bring himself to do it. He couldn't do it. He, Hitler's Top Assassin, couldn't bring himself to kill her. How could he kill someone that was like his own daughter? And that was it, he just couldn't, no matter what she had done or what the Ogdru Jahad said. He knew he couldn't bear to see her dead body and know that it had been he who had killed her. No, the Ogdru Jahad's wrath would be nowhere near as bad as that. But that didn't mean that he had forgiven her—he was still furious at her.

_Mark her, then, _the Ogdru Jahad ordered, _Mark her so you can find her again!_

Almost before he knew what he was doing he was reaching towards her face. He made two quick slashes with his blades and two bloody cuts appeared on her left cheek, a long vertical one topped by a slightly slanted horizontal one. Erica gave a cry and raised her hand to the bloody gashes cut into her left cheek in the shape of a 'T'. She gingerly fingered the gashes and her fingers came away stained crimson with blood.

"'T' for traitor." Kroenen hissed in explanation.

Erica's dazed brain grasped at a faint hope. _He's not going to kill me, _she thought in wonder. She looked up at Kroenen as he stood over her for a moment more and he looked down at her, one arm and blade half raised as if in indecision.

Just beyond Kroenen she saw something move. Erica tore her eyes away from Kroenen and looked past him to see that an Allied soldier had turned away from the fight. He was staring at them, though he didn't seem to understand what was going on. But it didn't look like he cared, because a look of triumph came over the soldier's face as he raised his gun and took careful aim at Kroenen's back. Clearly the soldier was hoping to get credit for dispatching the infamous Top Assassin.

Kroenen noticed that Erica was looking past him and started to turn around—and at that moment the Allied soldier pulled the trigger. The bullet tore into Kroenen's back and he whirled around, blades raised. The Allied soldier looked astonished that Kroenen wasn't dead, but his astonishment quickly turned into shock as Kroenen ran him through. Kroenen forced himself not to look back at Erica and continued forward, slicing and dicing every enemy soldier that came near him. And that was when he spotted the man Erica had tried to protect crawling towards a wounded soldier that was lying on the ground.

_Ah, Professor Broom, _Kroenen thought, as he recognized the paranormal advisor and strode towards him, _Another American nuisance soon to be dealt with._

From where she lay at the bottom on the wall, Erica saw Kroenen start towards Professor Broom. Still gasping for breath, she opened her mouth to try to warn the Professor, but only a hoarse moan came out. It was like a nightmare within a nightmare where she was trying to scream but couldn't. Erica watched helplessly, praying that someone would intervene.

Professor Broom crawled awkwardly over the ground, his knee throbbing painfully. But his goal was in sight! He reached out a hand, his eyes locked on the grenade, his heart leaping because he knew there was a chance to end this—when he head the unmistakable sound of footsteps behind him. Broom swallowed hard and barely daring to look, he looked over his shoulder. The sight that met him stopped his heart cold. Kroenen was striding towards him! The Professor forced himself to look away and reached for the grenade on the soldier's belt, his heart pounding so fast that the sound of it drowned out the commotion of the battle. Broom kept reaching, trying to ignore the spine-tingling sound of shrieking metal as Kroenen crossed the blades and slid one down the length of the other—the Professor grabbed the grenade—the hair on the back of his neck stood on end as he felt Kroenen loom over him—The Professor's numb fingers fumbled hastily with the grenade as he tried to pull out the pin—

A few meters away, Sergeant Whitman saw Kroenen raise his blades over Broom's crouched figure. Without thinking, Whitman aimed his gun—and fired four shots.

BAM! BAM! BAM! BAM!

Kroenen looked down in bemusement as the bullets slammed into his chest. On the ground Professor Broom briefly glanced up before once again fumbling with the grenade. Above him he could hear the ticking of broken clockwork and the harsh sound of damaged gears grinding together. A few meters away, Sergeant Whitman stared, shocked that the bullets hadn't been enough to kill the clockwork assassin.

Kroenen raised his blades, about to slice into Professor Broom's spine—when he heard the soft ringing sound of a grenade pin being dropped on the cobblestones. And then, to Kroenen's alarm, the Professor threw the grenade—right at the generator.

Kroenen's lidless eyes followed the arcing path of the grenade as it flew through the air and landed on the portal generator— and wedged itself under the spinning metal ring. Quickly, Kroenen retracted his knives and ran as fast as he could to the generator. He lunged for the grenade, his fingers reaching as far as they would go, groping and trying to grasp the grenade with his left hand. Unfortunately his damaged wrist wasn't working properly anymore, and bones were grinding on bones and making it hard to move. Kroenen reached too far and the spinning ring shredded the cuff of his jacket as he reached for the grenade. If he went any closer he would lose his hand, but if he didn't the grenade would explode! And if that happened he knew it would be the end of the Nazis. _What a choice. It just _had _to fall in the most inaccessible place, _Kroenen thought as he desperately tried to wriggle closer to the grenade. Precious seconds had already been wasted. _I _must_ reach it!_ he thought, _The plan _mustnot_ fail!_

Erica watched Kroenen as he reached for the grenade. Her heart was in her throat. She knew someone had to distract him or he would grab the grenade. _But if he doesn't, he'll be there when it explodes and— _she forced herself not to think about that. There were much more important things at stake than Kroenen's life—more important than her own life. She saw his fingers inch closer and in desperation she called out to him.

"KARL!" Erica yelled, her voice cracking as she cried out.

Kroenen turned his masked face towards her. _Karl? _He thought, _She's never called me that before. Never._ He gazed at her pale, despair filled face. But what really held his attention was that at the same time her cry had been a distraction it had also been warning, telling him to get away before the grenade exploded.

"Checkmate!" Erica shouted, her voice ringing out. She smiled sadly. "Finally, you lose!"

And then the grenade exploded!

There was a flash of blinding light and a blast of heat accompanied by a deafening boom as the crystal inside the generator shattered, adding even more strength to the explosion. The next thing Kroenen knew he was flung through the air, propelled by the force of the explosion. Kroenen screamed, his limbs thrashing like a spider picked up by one leg—his flight ended abruptly as he felt his back smash into a stone column with bone breaking force. He bounced off of the stone column and then stumbled backwards and crashed into it again. He stood there for a moment, trying to orient himself. His head felt like it was spinning, he had no idea which way was up—

"Uunhuff." Kroenen moaned.

A long piece of shrapnel pierced him through the stomach, pinning him to the column like an insect. He could feel a small 'explosion' inside him as several as his vertebrae were crushed. His left hand felt strangely numb and he looked down. The explosion had finished what Erica had started—his hand was irreparably destroyed. Suddenly he heard Grigory start screaming.

Grigory's face was distorted and his body was contorting and breaking. Kroenen watched as Grigory turned his head and looked at Erica, his eyes burning and his face contorted with rage.

"_Acire!_" Grigory shrieked, his eyes wild.

Erica stared at Grigory as if she were transfixed. Pieces of Grigory's skin started separating from his body as he was pulled towards the portal. Ilsa stared at her lover in anguish and, as his eyes were sucked into the portal, she scrambled away from the steps and ran. Grigory shrieked as he was pulled through the air towards the rapidly shrinking cosmic slit, and he stuck to it for a moment before his body was folded backwards with a sharp snap of bones. His gave an ear-splitting scream of despair as he was pulled through, and his shriek echoed in the air long after he had disappeared.

The cosmic slit continued shrinking as the smoldering, smoking remnants of generator's ring—now resembling a crescent because of the explosion—halfheartedly spun around as it slowed down. Kroenen bowed his head in defeat. _Damn her!_ He thought.

Erica watched as Sergeant Whitman helped Broom to stand and then her eyes locked on the rapidly shrinking portal. _Everything will be alright now,_ she thought, a small satisfied smile on her lips, _It was worth it. I'm sure it was…_

All of her energy gave out and her muscles suddenly relaxed. Her body slumped sideways into the mud and her head lolled crazily on her neck. _God, I hurt all over, _she thought weakly, _I've never been wounded this badly._ She dimly overheard Professor Broom talking to another soldier, but she didn't really care what they were saying. She couldn't move anyway, so what did it matter? Her eyes fell on the column where Kroenen was pinned. He was only a few meters away, and his head was slumped forwards onto his chest. _I wonder if he's dead, _she thought dazedly, _It would be terrible if he was, but maybe it would be just as bad if he was alive. Of course, he can't really die because he's undead…I wonder if I'm suffering from blood loss? All of my thoughts are so random and everything feels like it's fading away…except for the pain, of course…I wonder if Kroenen is dead?_

She had a vague sense of remorse and guilt— but then she saw him _move._

Erica's breath caught in her throat as she watched him raise his right arm and begin cutting through his torso with rough, awkward movements. It made her sick just to watch him and imagine what it would feel like to have the same things happen to her. She heard some of his bones snap and saw white sand pour out of his wounds as he tore himself loose. He tumbled onto the ground and then slowly, laboriously, stood up. Her heart froze as the mask looked malevolently in her direction and she could do nothing but watch as he slunk past some Allied soldiers and crept towards her, slipping from shadow to shadow. His movements weren't as graceful or controlled as they usually were— he tottered and stumbled as he walked and his torso was hunched forward because of his back injuries.

A few feet away from her Kroenen collapsed. _Damn it! _he silently cursed. He glanced towards Erica again. He knew she was barely alive: he could see the crimson blood staining the front of her black SS uniform and he could hear her ragged breathing. For a brief moment he took delight in the though that he might have punctured one of her lungs, but besides knowing this wasn't true, he knew he didn't want her to die. _Such a bizarre conflict of emotions, _he thought.

He pushed himself onto his hands and knees, and keeping to the shadows, he crawled over to the wall where she lay. Her gray eyes followed him as he knelt down in the mud beside her bloodstained and broken body. His eyes settled for a moment on the bloody hole in her shoulder, and he quickly looked away from it in an effort to suppress a wave of emotion that he realized was guilt. Erica had a dazed expression on her face, but there was a hint of concern in her expression as her eyes traveled to the extensive wounds on his torso. Already the black-brown mud around him was covered in a light dusting of white sand that was trickling from his wounds. Kroenen could hear the air rasping though his mask as he panted—he knew he didn't have much time before he would have to make his way down to the shore where—hopefully—the Nazi ships would be waiting for him. Ilsa and any of the others that had survived were probably already on their way there.

On impulse, Kroenen reached out one gloved hand to touch Erica's face and, quite understandably, she flinched away from him.

"I won't kill you," he whispered, "Not now. But I won't save you either. I can't take you back with us. Ilsa would kill you for what you've done." He thought for a moment. "In fact, I might kill you if I took you with me—but I might not. It's better for you to stay here. You have a better chance of surviving with your new _friends_."

His voice was bitter as he finished his sentence.

"Kroenen—" Erica choked out, her voice barely above a whisper, "Forgive me. I didn't—I couldn't—"

An expression of frustration crossed her face as she struggled to make her tongue and mouth obey her. But it was as if they belonged to another person—so she gave up and fell silent.

Kroenen reached into one of his pockets and pulled out something that sparkled in the dim light. "Here," he said contemptuously, pressing her crucifix into her hand, "You'll need this. God can't save you, Erica. He can't save you—not from me."

Her fingers curled around the broken chain of her necklace and she held it to her chest like a child holds a favorite stuffed animal. She looked up at him in confusion.

"Yes, you'll live, Erica. I don't think your new allies will kill you. You're much too valuable for that. And as long as they find you soon you won't have to worry about bleeding to death. But even they can't save you. No one and nothing can save you from me."

"I know." Erica answered, forcing the words out. Her voice barely audible. A tear ran down her cheek.

"I _will_ find you. I'll find you no matter where you go." Kroenen whispered softly. "I'll find you, my Angel of Death."

Erica couldn't tell from the tone in his voice whether he was trying to threaten her or comfort her. She wasn't even sure if _he_ knew.

Kroenen gently brushed the long, wet strands of hair away from her pale face and then wiped away the tears and raindrops that dotted her cheeks. The gesture was both comforting and somehow harsh. It was very strange, considering that a few minutes ago he had been trying to kill her. Erica had no energy to try to resist, so she let him do it, absently wondering if the gesture was his way of silently saying 'I'm sorry'. She felt his fingers trail over the 'T' shaped gashes on her face and she flinched in pain. She felt his fingers stiffen as if anger was welling up in him again.

"The deepest pit of Hell is reserved for betrayers, Erica," Kroenen murmured, gently tracing around the 'T' with his fingers, "You may have tried to escape us, you may have tried to escape Hell, but your actions have condemned you to the fiery pit. But don't worry, at least you'll have us there for company. Heaven would be so lonely for you, would it not?"

His voice was mocking, even to his own ears. He gazed down at her as he heard the Allied soldiers beginning to move again. Kroenen knew he had to leave or risk being caught.

"Auf Wiedersehen," he whispered to her as he stood up, "And remember, I'll find you, though Heaven bar the way!"

He melted into the shadows, disappearing into the rain and darkness, leaving her to her fate at the hands of the Allied soldiers.

XXXXX

It was still raining. Professor Broom leaned on Matlin for support as they walked through the ancient abbey ruins that had become a modern battlefield.

Suddenly, Matlin came to an abrupt halt so quickly that Professor Broom nearly fell. Broom's injured knee twinged painfully and he gasped. As soon as the pain faded he glanced up at Matlin's pale and fear filled face. Instantly Broom followed the soldier's gaze to a nearby stone column.

"He's gone!" cried Matlin in surprise.

It was true. Kroenen was gone. Embedded in the column where Kroenen had been pinned was one metal rail and nothing more.

"For now." replied Broom, knowing instinctively that he hadn't seen the last of the clockwork assassin.

Allied soldiers passed by them and Broom watched as the soldiers spread out, using their flashlights to scour through the rubble. Every one of them had a rosary hanging from their bayonet. _Courtesy of myself, of course,_ Broom thought grimly, clutching the leather strap of his wooden box in his free hand.

It had been a very strange night, even for someone who was used to the paranormal. And among all the odd and terrible things he had witnessed, one thing stood out in the Professor's mind: Erica Schwarz. _Why did she protect me? Why did she spare my life? She had the perfect opportunity to kill me, _Broom thought,_ And why was she fighting Kroenen? I know I saw it, but it doesn't make any sense!_

"Come on, Professor," said Matlin kindly, "Let's find a place where you can get out of the rain and fix up that leg."

"Alright." Broom said, and Matlin began steering him towards a section of the ruins. As they went they passed a soldier shining his flashlight along the base of a wall.

"Holy crap!" yelled the soldier.

Startled by the man's shout, Matlin jumped and whirled around, pulling the Professor along with him.

"Ow, ow, ow, ow!" Professor Broom protested, "Careful! My leg!"

"Sorry." apologized Matlin.

Sergeant Whitman and several other soldiers came running over as the man that had yelled continued to shout.

"I've got a live one here!" the man hollered.

Matlin and the Professor shuffled over to the growing ring of soldiers surrounding a figure laying in the mud at the base of the wall. Matlin elbowed a few soldiers out of the way so he and Broom were in the front. As Broom gazed down at the figure hidden in shadow, his eyes were drawn to a red object laying in the mud at his feet. He looked down at it in astonishment. It was a crimson rose!

_Just like the one Erica Schwarz had in her pocket! _Broom thought.

His heart froze as some sixth sense seemed to tell him who the figure lying in the mud had to be. Filled with a mixture of dread and curiosity, the Professor's eyes traveled over the figure as a soldier turned a flashlight toward it. Black boots, a black S.S. uniform, a heavily bloodstained jacket, a swastika, an Iron Cross— His eyes fell on a pale, feminine face and he saw the young woman's left cheek was marred by a bloody gash in the shape of a "T". Broom stared at her in shock, hardly able to believe his eyes.

Her grey eyes turned slowly up to him.

"Professor Broom." she said hoarsely, a weak smile on her lips.

"Erica Schwarz." Broom said. Then, realizing what she had said, "How did you know my name?"

But The Angel of Death didn't answer him, because at that moment all of the Allied soldiers' guns snapped towards her, and in an instant she registered one fact: each soldier had a gun out, and every gun was pointing straight at her!

Author's Notes: Mwhahaha! Another Cliffie! The next chapter is the Epilogue, and you'll find out what happens to Erica, and what I decided should happen to Von Krupt, since no one could tell me otherwise. And I guess I'll come up with somewhere for Ilsa and Kroenen to go to, since I have no idea where they're _supposed_ to go…I hope everyone got the 'checkmate' thing, it's based on the fact that she always lost when she and Kroenen played chess. I still need your help on the sequel I'm starting, so please send me ideas! Should Erica and Kroenen hate each other? Love-hate relationship? Or what? Anyways, please tell me what you think and review!


	19. Epilogue Part One

Chapter Nineteen: Epilogue, Part One: The Black Rose and the Letter 

Disclaimer: Hellboy characters do not belong to me. However, Erica, Heinrich, Alfred Drummond, and Sergeant Alexandre Barret are mine.

Author's Notes: Thanks for the reviews, Scorponis, Cotton Candy Sheep, Psycho Llama, and Gestalt (and any others I've missed)! My most sincere apologies for keeping you waiting for so long! Ideas and suggestions are still welcome! As are reviews from any people who haven't been, _hint, hint_. Anyways, thanks to all my wonderful, inspiring reviewers for encouraging me to keep writing, for telling me what you thought, for giving me ideas—and for tolerating the occasional month-long intervals between chapters! I couldn't have done it without you! A further thanks goes out to my beta-reader, you know who you are! At a total of 20 chapters over 10 months, with a total of 265 pages written, this is definitely one story I've put my soul into. Anywhoo, here it is, the Epilogue you've been waiting for. I could have written a short little thing, which is typical of epilogues, but as you can probably guess, I didn't, and I'll tell you right now, it's so long I split it into Part One and Part Two. Part One of this epilogue begins tying everything together: from Professor Broom proving that Erica is a traitor, what happened to Ilsa and Kroenen, to Von Krupt going too far and paying for his boldness, so you can understand why it's so long. As always, 'Nein' is no, 'Engel des Todes' is The Angle of Death, 'liebchen' is sweetheart, and 'Helfen Sie mir' is help me. prays German is right, translator was iffy. Enjoy the last chapter!

**Scorponis: **Thanks for the ideas! Loyal reviewers make me happy!

**Cotton Candy Sheep: **Yay! A new reviewer! I take it your name is inspired by Charlie and the Chocolate Factory (another of my favorite movies)! Great to know how much you've been enjoying my story. And thanks, I really like your ideas for my sequel, and most definitely will be using them in some way or another. I hope you enjoy this chapter as much as the last, and that you'll enjoy my sequel as well!

**Psycho Llama: **Thanks! I hope you like it when I re-work the movie for my sequel! I've got a lot of interesting things planned, since I'm basing it on both Hellboy and Hellboy: The Director's Cut.

**Gestalt: **Danke! You saved me from inventing a place! I put the Norway thing in Part Two.

"It's not who you are underneath. It's what you _do_ that defines you."— Rachel Dawes, _Batman Begins_

"A thousand words will not leave so deep an impression as one deed." —Henrik Ibsen

"How far that little candle throws its beams! So shines a good deed in a weary world."—William Shakespeare

_October 9, 1944_

_The Ruins of Trondham Abbey, Scotland_

Professor Broom watched in horror as the Allied soldiers' guns snapped towards Erica, each gun loaded and ready and each bullet sure to hit her. He knew it would be impossible to miss at that range.

"Don't Shoot!" Professor Broom heard someone yell, and then realized with shock that he was the one yelling.

Sergeant Whitman stared at the Professor as if he thought Broom was mad.

"Going to kill me?" Erica Schwarz asked in a hoarse, whispery voice, "I can't say I don't deserve it."

As if her words had been some obscure justification, the soldiers tightened their fingers on the triggers of their guns—

"Hold your fire! Don't Shoot!" yelled Professor Broom.

The soldiers shifted restlessly, but at a slight nod from Sgt. Whitman they lowered their guns a little, though Broom knew that each man was ready at a moment's notice to shoot to kill. Broom locked eyes with Whitman. It was clear that the Sergeant wasn't sure what Broom was doing, but that he trusted him.

"Just wait," Broom said.

Professor Broom turned back to Erica, who was watching him. _God, I hope I know what I'm doing,_ he thought. Something suddenly occurred to him. Hadn't he heard her speak _English_? His surprise must have shown on his face, because Erica spoke again.

"What? Were you expecting me to speak only German?" she asked, amusement in her voice.

"Well yes, I was." Broom admitted.

He was still trying to decide how to act. It was amazing and frightening to be face to face with Erica Schwarz, someone he knew was both powerful and clever. And those two traits were making it very hard for him to decide about what was going on. Had she really betrayed the Nazis and the Thule Society as he suspected? Or was this all a game, a plan to get a spy into their midst? Or was it something else entirely? And the only way to answer those questions involved asking _more_ questions. _Why did she shoot that Nazi soldier?_ Broom wondered. _Was she protecting me?_ _Why would she do that? She had the perfect opportunity to kill me, but she didn't. Why is that? And why did I see her fighting Kroenen?_ Professor Broom knew that all of these questions needed answering, and he had a feeling Erica Schwarz was the only one who could give him those answers. But first he had another question for her.

"Now, how did you know my name?" Professor Broom asked.

"How did you know mine?" she asked, a shadow of a smile on her bloodstained lips.

Broom hesitated for a moment. He hadn't expected her to answer him with a question, but in a way it did make sense. "I've heard a lot about you," Broom answered, "But that doesn't tell me how you know my name."

"As with any war, both sides make sure to know as much as possible about the threats on the opposing side," Erica answered. She fell silent, and her strange gray eyes glanced at the broken rose lying in the mud near her. She looked up again and locked eyes with Broom. "But as you know, Professor, I am no longer a threat to any of you."

Sergeant Whitman glanced from Erica to Broom during this exchange, looking anxious and confused. Professor Broom ignored him, he was too busy turning Erica's cryptic words over in his mind, wondering if they really had the double meaning in them that he had picked up on. She could have meant she was so badly wounded that she wasn't a threat, but she might also have meant that she knew Broom had seen her fighting Kroenen—that she had betrayed the Nazis and was no longer a threat. Broom glanced at the blood covered young woman and decided to take a chance that she meant she had betrayed the Nazis. _Perhaps she's purposefully trying to turn the conversation so that possibility is mentioned, _he thought, _Perhaps she's just trying to save herself. But then again, what I saw…_

"Why were you fighting Kroenen?" Professor Broom asked, burning with curiosity despite the cold.

A hush fell over the soldiers, who had been muttering discontentedly among themselves until now. Erica's face became solemn and she glanced down at her fist. Then slowly, oh so slowly, she uncurled her fist so Broom could see the silver crucifix necklace lying across her palm. Her hand was visibly shaking, but Broom didn't know if that was from emotion or blood loss.

"Because it was right." Erica answered, turning her eyes up to him. She closed her hand and held it to her chest again, near her bleeding shoulder.

The soldiers started talking again, the disbelief clear in their voices as they discussed what her words implied.

"Am I to understand that you've betrayed the Nazis and the Thule Occult Society?" Broom asked, peering at her. Excitement started to rise inside of him.

"Yes."

Before Professor Broom could ask another question, he was interrupted by the other soldiers.

"She's lying!" shouted a soldier.

"Don't trust her! She's a murderer!"

"I bet this is some sort of Nazi trick!" yelled another, shoving his gun against Erica's head. Erica cringed away from the cold metal of the gun.

"Wait! Don't shoot!" shouted Professor Broom, trying to take a step forward, but only stumbling. Matlin caught him and tried to pull Broom back, but the Professor moved forward so that he was standing in front of Erica. Matlin stayed by his side, looking a bit nervous that all those weapons were pointed at him. "She's on our side! At least, I think she is."

Sergeant Whitman looked skeptical. "Are you sure you know what you're doing?" Whitman asked. "How do you know that she's telling the truth? How do we know that she hasn't put a—a spell on you or something? Before the fight you said I could shoot her."

"I don't know that she's telling the truth, but besides myself, some of the other soldiers _must_ have seen her act very oddly tonight. And she was acting oddly enough to give me reason to listen to her. As for casting spells— she can't. She can only use minor spells, and mind control isn't one of them. Among other things, spells are Kroenen's and Ilsa's specialty, not hers. Now please, tell them to lower their guns!"

"Alright." Whitman said. Still looking uncertain, he gestured at the soldiers to lower their weapons. The soldiers complied, looking very unhappy. "Now explain." said Whitman.

Professor Broom took a deep breath and tried to collect his thoughts. "Think, if this is a trick, it's very elaborate. Why would her own side nearly kill her?" Professor Broom said, trying to reason with them, "You must have seen her and Kroenen fighting each other!"

Some of the soldiers nodded in agreement.

"Besides that, I saw her kill one of the Nazi soldiers," he paused, "And I think she might have killed that soldier to protect me."

"What makes you think that?" challenged one of the Allied soldiers.

"Right after she shot him she looked right at me. She could have killed me, but she didn't, she only nodded and walked away."

"But why would she do that?" asked Whitman.

"She wouldn't—unless she's betrayed the Nazis and the Occult, as she said she has." Broom explained.

"Hmpf. She was just trying to save her own neck!" one soldier said.

"No, I wasn't," Erica interrupted, her speech slightly indistinct and slurred.

"What did you say?" asked Whitman, amazed.

"I said I wasn't trying to save my own life," she said, a little clearer this time, but much quieter than before. "I was trying to save my soul."

Professor Broom stared at her, but not just because he was surprised by her answer. Erica was gasping for breath and her eyes looked slightly unfocused. She was getting weaker—no doubt because of the wound in her shoulder. Broom suddenly became aware of all the blood on her clothes and the blood staining the muddy ground around her. All that blood was _hers_. Professor Broom was no expert, but he knew Erica would go into shock and die of blood loss if something wasn't done soon.

She locked eyes with him again, though she seemed to struggle to focus on his face.

"Helfen Sie mir." Erica whispered, her voice fading away even as she spoke.

Broom stared at her, the plaintive tone in her voice and her words pulling at his heart. He did understand German, but he was surprised that she had chosen to speak in German instead of English. _Perhaps it's easier for her to speak German,_ Broom thought.

"What did she say?" asked Whitman, looking at the Professor.

Professor Broom shook himself. He had momentarily forgotten that not all the men present were multilingual.

"She said 'help me'."

"Help her what?" asked Whitman, raising an eyebrow.

"No, no, not help her do something. I think she means she needs a doctor."

Whitman was silent for a moment as he looked at the Professor. "We have a doctor with us, but I don't see why we should help her." The Sergeant cast a wary look at Erica.

"We should help her because she's betrayed the Nazis—"

"You haven't proved that yet." Whitman reminded him.

"Just give me some time," Professor Broom pleaded, "I _know_ I can prove it! No one can deny what she's done in the past, and I'm not saying we should welcome her with open arms. We must be cautious. But if I can prove that she's truly betrayed the Occult and the Nazis, think what an advantage that would give us! Between her powers and inside knowledge—!"

"And if you can't prove it?" interrupted Whitman, looking very serious.

Professor Broom glanced at Erica and then back at Whitman, his face somber as he realized what the Sergeant meant. If Broom couldn't prove it, Erica would be tried and executed for war crimes. "If I can't prove it, then do what the law dictates you must."

Sergeant Whitman nodded curtly. He started to turn away, but then stopped. "Will it be safe? For the Doctor and us, I mean?"

"She's almost dead! I don't see her recovering enough to do any significant damage for probably two or three weeks!" Broom exclaimed.

"Still…" Whitman trailed off, watching Erica watch him and the Professor.

"Wait, I have an idea." Broom said, remembering the crucifix she had been holding and what she had said about betraying the Occult to save her soul. He stepped closer to Erica and looked down at her.

"Swear that you won't harm us if we help you." said Professor Broom, looking Erica in the eyes.

"Swear on what?" one of the soldiers asked derisively, "What can she possibly swear on that would make her keep her word?"

Broom thought for a moment. "Erica, swear it on the Bible," Broom said, "Swear that you won't harm us if we help you." Professor Broom's eyes never broke with hers, which had taken on a deeply serious look.

"On the Bible?" a soldier scoffed, "She's a murderer! She's damned to Hell anyway, it's not like that would make her—"

"I believe it will." Broom said, speaking in a tone of voice that silenced the muttering soldiers. "Say it." he said. Erica looked at him, a part of her suspecting some sort of trick. Beyond that she barely had enough energy to speak, her tongue felt like a lead weight in her mouth. But she didn't want to die, and she knew that if she didn't force herself to speak, her silence would mean her death.

"I swear on the Bible that I won't harm you if you help me." She said, speaking each word slowly so she could get them out. As she spoke she had an odd feeling, as if the shadow of eternal life that Grigory had given her was crawling and writhing within her. But what did it matter? She was cold, rain was falling on her face, she hurt _all over_, and she was _so tired_ and her eyelids were _so heavy_. It was a struggle to keep them open and her eyes focused. In fact, it was a struggle to keep her mind focused. She just wanted to go to sleep. _Yes_, she thought, _I want to go to sleep. For a long time…yes, that sounds nice…Maybe I'll feel better when I wake up…I'm just…so…tired…_

Professor Broom watched in alarm as Erica's eyes rolled back in her head and her entire body went limp. She was so pale and limp that for a second he thought she had died—but no, he could see that she was still breathing, so she had only passed out.

"Where's your troop's Doctor?" Broom asked.

"Yeah, yeah," Whitman said absently as he gestured to a nearby soldier. "You, take her to—" Whitman stopped, suddenly realizing that leaving Erica in the hands of the soldiers might not be a good idea. "Never mind," he said dismissively, "I'll take her myself. You five, go start setting up some tents and fires outside the ruins. The rest of you, get back to searching! And don't even think about hurting her if you happen to get the chance! She's a valuable prisoner!"

This said, the Sergeant stooped down and scooped Erica up in his arms none too gently. He started walking towards the edge of the ruins, mumbling under his breath.

"I'm gonna be writing one Hell of a report once we get back to America," Whitman grumbled, "No one is ever gonna believe me. Clockwork assassins, Gods of Chaos—God, what a load of…"

Professor Broom watched him go, listening as the raging elements drowned out the Sergeant's voice as he got further away. He looked down and saw Erica's rose still lying in the mud. He held onto Matlin and awkwardly bent down and retrieved the broken rose from the mud. He examined it for a moment and then slipped it inside his box. _After all,_ he thought, _You never know what might come in handy._

"Come on Professor, let's get you out of the rain. You need to rest, that leg looks pretty bad." Matlin said.

"Yes, it is," Broom said, wincing.

Matlin began leading him towards a section of the ruins that still had something that resembled walls and a roof, carefully steering Broom around piles of rubble and the bodies of the dead Nazi soldiers.

XXXXX

Whitman left Erica's unconscious body in a tent on the edge of the ruins. Despite his own doubts and misgivings about The Angel of Death, he had made the troop's doctor swear not to hurt her and to tend to her wounds. _Who knows?_ Whitman thought, _Maybe she will turn out to be a valuable prisoner._ Sergeant Whitman was jogging through the mud and the rain, rushing to get back to the center of the ruins to see if anything had been found yet.

BANG! BANG! BANG!

The noise of the three gunshots broke through the howling wind and echoed off the ruined stone walls. The gun shots were followed by the sound of Matlin yelling loud enough to wake the dead. Sergeant Whitman ran towards the sound along with several other soldiers, all of them completely unsuspecting that they were about to get yet another lesson in the paranormal.

Meanwhile, Kroenen was completely oblivious to the fact that his Master had sent Anung Un Rama through the portal, and he was equally oblivious to the fact that the demon-child was about to be found by none other then Professor Trevor Broom.

Kroenen stumbled through the darkness, tripping over rocks and slipping on the wet grass and mud. Raindrops slid down the glass eyes of his mask, making his surroundings appear blurry. He forced himself to keep going, occasionally cursing when he would fall and stagger upright again. The metal spike had done more damage to his back then he had initially thought.

He slipped again and snarled in anger, scaring the wits out of a few sheep that had been huddled under a nearby tree. The sheep ran off, baaing in terror as he pushed himself up with his right arm. Due to Erica's wrist blades and the explosion, his left arm was completely useless and more of an impediment than anything. It was so dark that he couldn't see how badly damaged his hand it was, but knew that it was probably beyond repair: he couldn't move or feel it at all.

His anger gave him strength he hadn't known he had, and he finally struggled upright and continued on towards the harbor where the Nazi ships would be waiting.

_Or should be waiting, _he thought grimly. After all, there was a slight chance that Ilsa had decided to leave without him.

The wind howled angrily through the trees, reminding him of how angry the Ogdru Jahad must be. He winced at the thought, knowing the majority of that anger was probably directed at him and Erica—but he couldn't think about her right now. He had to get to the Nazi ships!

He could hear his own breath rasping through his mask as he walked, and could feel his sand-like blood pouring out of his extensive wounds. He was getting weaker. As soon as he got to the ship he would have to do something about his injuries while he still had the energy.

He laboriously climbed the last hill and paused at the top, looking down at the shore below him as the elements beat at his body. From here he could see the muted lights of the ships in the harbor and a few figures rushing back and forth on the decks. He had made sure that the ships had been hidden here, just in case. Fortunately the ships in the cove were far enough away that the Allied Forces hadn't discovered them—yet.

He glanced over his shoulder into the cold, rainy night to make sure no one was following him. But of course no one was, all the Allied soldiers were at the ruins. And she—_she_ had no hope of even crawling five feet, let alone following him in these weather conditions.

He knew this, but he still felt a little disappointed, though he should have known better than to expect anything.

_And this is all her fault! Perhaps it's a good thing she didn't follow me. I might have killed her, _he thought, feeling his hot anger surging through him again, though a part of him told him that he would never be able to kill Erica.

He silenced that part of himself and turned towards the shore again. Kroenen knew he would have to hurry—the ships wouldn't wait much longer.

He glanced behind him one more time before he stumbled down the hill toward the rocky shore.

XXXXX

Ilsa stood on the rain slicked deck of one of the ships, leaning against the rail as she stared out at the night. She clutched the worn leather book to her chest with one hand and held a handgun in the other as she peered out at the darkness, anxiously waiting.

The cold rain fell on her face and the freezing wind numbed her skin, but she hardly noticed it—anger, fear, and grief were raging inside her as loud as the hurricane around her, but she couldn't show her emotions. Not only couldn't, she wouldn't, because she knew the male soldiers would see her display of emotion as a weakness. And in this situation she could _not_ afford to appear weak. So she locked her emotions inside her and stood on the deck, almost shaking with the effort of containing her surging emotions. _Grigory is gone,_ a voice inside her wailed at heartbreaking intensity. And her heart _was_ breaking—_But there will be time for that later, she told firmly herself, right now I have to concentrate on escaping with my life. The only chance to bring back Grigory relies on Kroenen and me surviving._ She gazed out at the darkness, searching for any approaching figures._ Where _is _Kroenen?_ She thought anxiously,_ We can't afford to wait much longer!_

She scanned the shoreline again, nervously waiting for Kroenen to appear. She could feel the few remaining Nazi soldiers growing restless around her as they waited for her order to cast off—they didn't want to wait around here any longer than necessary. Neither did Ilsa. The longer they stayed in the cove, the higher the risk of being caught by the Allied Forces. And they _would_ be caught if that happened, less than fifteen Nazi soldiers had survived the battle, and nearly all of them were wounded. If it came to a fight, they would have to surrender or be slaughtered like animals. Ilsa glanced around her, the cold air biting at her cheeks. She could feel her sense of urgency growing stronger inside her. She knew they would have to leave soon. _Just another minute,_ she thought, standing stiffly on the deck of the ship as the waves heaved beneath the ship and the cold ocean spray stung her skin. She ignored the soldiers and one by one they left her and went to the Navigation room until she was all alone on the deck. _Just one more minute,_ she thought, feeling the danger growing each second, _Just one…_

A scraping sound and a thud came from somewhere behind her and Ilsa quickly spun around, her heart pounding as she aimed her handgun in the direction of the sound, sure that the Allied soldiers had found them. But her eyes fell on one of the lifeboats instead of enemy soldiers. The tarp that covered the lifeboat had come loose in the bad weather and was flapping around as the wind blew. Or was it? Ilsa blinked and peered though the rain at the tarp. It was secure. She frowned. _I must have been imagining things, _she thought, turning back to face the shore, her eyes scanning the edge of the water for Kroenen's distinctive form.

"Ilsa."

She whipped around, instinctively aiming her gun in the direction of the voice. Then she saw who it was: Kroenen. She lowered her gun, an indescribable sense of relief washing through her. Doubtless the moving 'tarp' had been him as he crawled over the side of the ship. However, her relief was instantly replaced by anger as she tried to hide her surprise, embarrassed that he had startled her.

"Where have you been?" Ilsa demanded harshly, "We were just about to leave without you!"

Kroenen was silent except for the ragged rasping as he breathed. Still angry, Ilsa was just about to let him have it, when her eyes finally comprehended what they were seeing. Kroenen's black SS uniform was covered in mud and blood, and one side of it looked like it had been messily torn or cut open. Whatever had cut his uniform had apparently cut him too, a light stream of sand was slowly streaming from his side and onto the wet deck. His torso seemed a little…_floppy_, as if his back had been injured, and she stared at the ruin of his left hand with a growing sense of horror.

"What the _Hell_ happened to you?" she asked, alarmed.

"Only my Angel." he spat, his voice somewhere between a snarl and a sigh.

There was a moment of silence, and then it occurred to Ilsa that they could leave.

"Come on," she said, and then turned on her heel and strode quickly across the deck.

She flung open the door to Navigation. Von Krupt was standing there, and he looked at her, frowning as if the sudden disruption displeased him. Ilsa decided then and there that she didn't give a damn what he thought.

"Get us out of here immediately!" Ilsa ordered.

The Nazi soldiers were all too happy to comply. She heard the engines start and then felt the rocky, heaving motion as the ship started plowing through the choppy, storm tossed waves stirred up by the hurricane. For a moment she stood at one of the windows, anxiously watching as the shore began to move away. But no running figures appeared on shore, and no ships followed in pursuit. Obviously the Allied Forces were too busy to notice a single ship quickly leaving the island behind and heading off into the storm.

Ilsa's eyes fell on the other Nazi ships, now almost completely covered by the waves. She was leaving them to sink—on her orders the Nazi soldiers had opened the hatches and allowed the water to flow in. Her logic was that it was the only thing to do since fifteen men couldn't navigate all the ships.

On impulse, Ilsa turned and opened a nearby door—the one that led to the conference room. The same room that only hours before she, Kroenen, Grigory, Von Krupt, and Erica—yes _Erica_, that traitor—had all gathered around and drank a toast to the success of their mission. The wineglasses and empty wine bottle were still sitting on the table. Ilsa wearily sank into one of the chairs and set the book and handgun down on the table. She briefly glanced up as Kroenen came into the room. Von Krupt stepped through the door after him and closed the door.

Kroenen glanced at the General in irritation. He wasn't happy that Von Krupt had followed them. Kroenen wanted to temporarily repair his injuries, but he wasn't about to do that in front of the General. So, still 'bleeding' sand from his wounds, he did his best not to stumble as he went over to a chair and sank down into it. The General did the same.

No one spoke, and a heavy oppressive silence thick with failure filled the room, interrupted only by the sound of rain hitting the glass windows and the soft but unpleasant grinding of Kroenen's damaged clockwork. Ilsa was silent, her face like a mask of stone as she tried not to break down and show her grief. Kroenen leaned back in his chair, allowing the chair to support him since his back was struggling to do this for him. He tried to avoid moving his left hand—or what was left of it. He could feel the remaining bones grinding together unpleasantly.

Across the table, Von Krupt was studying Kroenen through the dark crimson lenses of his glasses, feeling slightly emboldened as he realized that the Top Assassin was in very poor condition. He decided to break the silence.

"Before you arrived Ilsa told me about Erica's betrayal—and Grigory." said Von Krupt.

Kroenen ignored the General, not even bothering to look in his direction. The silence stretched on for a moment until, to Kroenen's irritation, Von Krupt tried a different tactic.

"Where are we going?" the General asked.

"Somewhere safe." Kroenen answered evasively.

"Not back to Germany then?"

No answer.

"Won't _she_ tell them where we're going, supposing they find her while she breathes her last breath?" asked Von Krupt.

Kroenen studied Von Krupt's frowning face for a moment. The General was clearly under the impression that Kroenen had mortally wounded Erica. Von Krupt thought Erica was going to die, something that Kroenen very much doubted was going to happen. "Nein. She doesn't know about this place. And she wouldn't tell them even if she knew." Kroenen said.

"What makes you so sure?" Von Krupt scoffed, "She was a traitor!"

"Not _was_, _is_." Kroenen muttered, more to himself than to Von Krupt or Ilsa.

Unfortunately, the General heard him.

"What? What do you mean, _is_?" Von Krupt exclaimed.

Kroenen ignored the General, turning instead to look at Ilsa. Her hands were balled into white-knuckled fists, her long red nails digging into her palm. Her ice blue eyes were darting from him to the General and back again.

The General coughed as if to get their attention, and Kroenen watched as Von Krupt pulled out his gold pocket watch. Ilsa scowled in the General's direction, no longer taking the trouble to hide the fact that she disliked him.

"Look at that," Von Krupt remarked, tapping the face of the open watch, "If Grigory's plan hadn't been a failure, the Nazis would have won the war by now."

"It was NOT a FAILURE!" Ilsa suddenly yelled, jumping to her feet.

Von Krupt flinched slightly as his head swiveled to face Ilsa. Her beautiful face was contorted by rage. Apparently Von Krupt's words had pushed her over the edge. Ilsa was standing on her feet, her hands grasping the edge of the table like talons.

"The plan was _NOT_ a _FAILURE_! It wasn't Grigory's _FAULT_! If you want to blame someone, blame _ERICA_ and that Allied _arschloch_ Trevor Bruttenholm!" Ilsa shrieked, her pent up emotions boiling over into fury.

"No, of course it wasn't." Von Krupt said, his words almost sounding sincere, but there was a slight hint of sarcasm to them.

Ilsa looked at Von Krupt as if she wished a stray bullet had killed him during the battle. She slowly sat down in her chair again, her normally pale cheeks flushed with anger. She shot Kroenen a look that told him she would be perfectly happy if Von Krupt suddenly dropped dead—or was encouraged to do so. Kroenen was close to agreeing with her.

The General flipped his watch closed and placed it in his pocket before turning to address Kroenen.

"And Erica?" the General asked.

"What about her?" Kroenen snapped.

"Is she alive or dead?"

The question hung in the silence of the room for a moment as Ilsa and Von Krupt looked at Kroenen, both of them clearly wanting to know the answer. Kroenen sat frozen in silence, wondering what to tell them. _They'll have to be told,_ he thought, _And they're bound to find out the truth if I lie. _He braced himself for their reaction. _It's better to get it out and over with_, he thought.

"She's alive." Kroenen said quietly.

Ilsa gasped slightly and Von Krupt scowled angrily.

"You let that traitor live?" the General shouted, his fury clear in his voice.

"She wasn't the easiest opponent, I taught her myself! It's not like I could effortlessly kill her!" Kroenen said, trying to justify what had happened.

"What you mean is that you couldn't bear to kill your _Engel des Tode_s— you couldn't kill your precious little _liebchen_!" Von Krupt's voice was dripping with venom. Inside he was just as bitter. He knew that he would probably be executed for the failure of the Ragnarok Project, and in some twisted way, it made him feel better to blame others as well. They were responsible for what had happened, not him!

However, he realized that he might have gone too far. The conference room was dead silent. Kroenen slowly looked up at Von Krupt, the glass eyes of his mask like dark obsidian mirrors.

"What did you say?" Kroenen asked, his voice laced with danger.

"It's true isn't it? You couldn't do it! Project Ragnarok _failed_ because of her, and you couldn't kill her!" Von Krupt's voice was both triumphant and bitter. As he spoke the General threw his caution to the wind. What did it matter if they killed him, if he was only going to be executed upon returning to Germany?

"Shut up." Kroenen ordered, speaking through clenched teeth. He was so angry that his right hand was clenched around the arm of the chair.

"Imagine, the Head of the Thule Society, Hitler's Top Assassin, couldn't kill a traitor!" Von Krupt said, his voice full of scorn as he tried to provoke the clockwork assassin.

"How _dare_ you talk to me like this!" Kroenen's demanded, almost shaking with anger.

"Talk? I haven't even begun to talk! I assure you, soon all Germany will know what happened here—that Erica Schwarz, one of your highest ranking members, turned out to be a traitor! The Three are _broken_! She probably even told the Allied Forces what was happening! And you—yes, _you_ were too blind to see what was happening, wouldn't ever think that your _liebchen_ would do such a thing—"

Before Kroenen even knew what he was doing, he had leapt to his feet, his anger giving his exhausted body the energy he needed. He grabbed a knife from his belt and launched himself towards Von Krupt, slashing the blade toward the General's throat before he had time to defend himself. Kroenen stepped back, and Von Krupt stood still for a moment, blood pouring from the severed artery in his neck and an expression of astonishment on his face. Von Krupt gurgled, swayed for a moment, and then collapsed to the floor. He didn't move.

Kroenen stood for a moment before he fell to his knees, completely exhausted. Ilsa was on her feet on an instant, moving around the table towards Kroenen and sidestepping around Von Krupt's body and the growing pool of blood on the floor. Kroenen looked up at her, his chest heaving from exertion. A light dusting of white sand lay on the floor, and more of it was trickling out from his wounds.

"Well, now that that inconvenience has been eliminated, perhaps I can repair myself so I'm not rendered completely useless." he said.

"What can I do?" Ilsa asked.

"Bring me that black case leaning against the wall."

Ilsa nodded and did what he said, laying it in front of him. Kroenen reached towards it to open the latch, only to realize that he only had one hand. He scrabbled at the clasp for a moment with his right hand before he gave up. He looked up at Ilsa, silently asking her to help him. She knelt down and opened the case for him, ignoring the General's dead body lying less than a foot away from her.

Kroenen sorted through the strange looking medical implements inside, taking some of them out and laying them on the floor beside him. He was only interested in temporarily repairing his wounds. Once they reached a safer place he would worry about permanent repairs. He knew that it would be very awkward and difficult to suture his wounds shut with only one hand, at best the stitches would come out uneven and too far apart for his personal liking. But they would have to do.

"Kroenen?"

He looked up at Ilsa.

"Where should we go? Erica knows about all of our safe places."

Kroenen thought for a moment. He and Ilsa knew better than to return to Germany after tonight's events—they would have to go into hiding until after the war was over. Hopefully by then everyone would assume that they were dead.

"She doesn't know about them all. Not the one we prepared before she ever arrived."

"To Norway, then?" Ilsa asked quietly.

He nodded. "To Norway."

XXXXX

Professor Broom sat on a wooden crate inside one of the several tents the Allied soldiers had put up. The inside of the tent was lit by a warm, yellow glow coming from a lantern sitting on two more wooden crates sitting side by side to make a table. The top of the crates were littered with objects: papers, books, pens, amulets, a deck of tarot cards, the broken rose the Professor had picked up, and his wooden box. Sitting among this jumble of objects was the original letter written in red ink that had been sent to the President as a warning about the Nazis' activities. Professor Broom scanned the words of a book with tired eyes. He paused for a moment and looked up, rubbing at his eyes and turning away from the book so he could survey the cramped interior of the tent.

There were a few other crates and boxes lying around, but something lying on a sleeping bag in the corner held his attention: Erica. She was still unconscious, but at least she wasn't dying. The doctor, though grudgingly, had kept his word and managed to save her from death—though he had muttered curses at her under his breath the entire time.

Erica's weapons glittered menacingly from where they stuck halfway out of a crate, the inscription on her twin swords shining clearly in the light: _Alles für Deutschland_. Everything for Germany. Her Iron Cross and bloodstained leather SS jacket lay folded up on a nearby crate, the doctor had had to take them off of her to get at her wound. The white shirt she was wearing underneath had been cut open at the shoulder for the same reason. Professor Broom vividly remembered coming into the tent while the doctor was working—he had almost thrown up at the sight of how badly wrecked her shoulder was. But he had stayed, if only to make sure nothing bad happened to her.

That was one reason why he was in this tent, now that the doctor had finished and had cleaned her up a bit, he wanted to make sure that the soldiers obeyed Whitman's order not to hurt Erica. He was also keeping an eye on her to make sure _she_ kept her word about not hurting anyone, should she wake up. Despite how badly wounded she was, he knew they all had to be cautious. Broom knew what Erica Schwarz was capable of, people hadn't feared her for nothing. Still, he was very confident that he didn't have much to fear from her, not only because of her wounds, but because he was fairly sure she had betrayed the Nazis.

He studied Erica as she lay there struggling to breathe, her eyelids just barely slitted open as her eyes twitched in fitful dreams. Professor Broom could see her gray eyes glittering strangely through her eyelashes. He shuddered. _I know she's asleep, _he thought, _but I still have the feeling that she's watching me._

His eyes traveled over the odd 'T' shaped cut on her left cheek and down her neck to the bandage on her shoulder, then over to the small bit of pale skin exposed on her arm and upper chest. Even in the dim glow of the lantern light he could see the silvery gleam of scars tracing their way across her skin, including the infamous crescent scar on her upper left arm. _I wonder how she got those, _he thought, _Fighting, perhaps? _His eyes skimmed over the muscles showing clearly from beneath her skin and then lingered for a moment on the small silver watch hanging on a chain around her neck. Her right fist was still curled in a death grip around her silver crucifix. Professor Broom studied her calm face. She looked so…he searched for a suitable word. Innocent was the first that came to mind, but he grimaced—it didn't describe her at all. _Peaceful,_ he thought, _Like she's able to relax completely for the first time in years._

He heard a small sigh—but it wasn't from Erica. The Professor glanced in the direction the sound had come from. Not far from where Erica lay, and only a foot from the Professor's improvised desk, was a pile of blankets that made a makeshift bed for the red, demon-like baby Professor Broom had found in the ruins. The baby was sound asleep, his tail twitching contentedly as he dreamed. Professor Broom smiled at the little thing, feeling a sense of warmth and pride inside him almost as if he were the strange infant's father. He hoped he would be allowed to keep the little—whatever it was. Who could care for it better than he, a paranormal advisor, could? But he would have to worry about that later. There were other things to attend to, like saving Erica Schwarz's life.

To save her life he had to prove that she really had betrayed the Nazis and the Thule Society, and not just turned on them when she realized the battle was going against them. It wasn't going to be easy, especially because Erica was still unconscious.

Professor Broom smiled as he realized the irony of the situation. He had never imagined that he would be racing to find evidence to save Erica Schwarz's life.

_And unfortunately, I don't seem to have much chance of doing that, _he thought.

None of his books on the members of the Thule Occult Society or the Nazis had been any help, and neither had the soldiers' knowledge of recent Nazi political events. Broom sighed and glanced around at the cramped quarters of the tent, gazing sadly at Erica for a moment. _I wonder who you really are, _he thought, _Who are you that you appeared out of thin air six years ago? Where is your family, if you have any? What happened to you?_

Outside the tent Broom could hear soldiers' voices and the non-stop tramp of boots in the mud as soldiers ran back and forth carrying out various tasks. He pushed his glasses up his nose and ran a hand though his hair as he tried to clear his tired and blurry mind. _I can't think straight, _he thought, _I need some fresh air._

Broom struggled upright, gasping as he put too much weight on his injured knee and a lance of pain shot up his leg. _Well, if Kroenen wasn't anything else, he was certainly a good shot, _Broom thought ruefully. His knee still throbbing, he limped towards the tent flap. With a last glance at Erica and the demon baby wrapped up in the blankets, Broom pushed aside the tent flap and stepped out into the night.

It was still raining, though not nearly as hard as before. Still, within a few moments he was drenched again. And cold. It was still freezing cold outside. _Ah, well,_ the Professor thought, _at least it'll clear my head._ He noticed a nearby fire that several soldiers were standing around, warming up. _I'll go over there. That way I can still be close enough to Erica and that baby to prevent anything from happening to them._

He slowly wandered over to the sputtering fire, being careful to take his time so he wouldn't trip and make his leg hurt any worse. Broom silently joined the soldiers, holding out his hands to the fire and absently listening to the snatches of conversation going on around him as he surveyed the men. Most of the groups of soldiers were solemn, and many of them were wounded. A group of wounded soldiers on his left was loudly discussing the aftermath of the battle.

"Do you think any of the Nazi soldiers got away?" one man asked, "I didn't see that blond woman, the assassin, or that General lying around dead in the ruins."

"Well, maybe a few got away, but we shot most of 'em. Maybe those other three will turn up in the mornin', it's too hard to see things in the dark. And this weather isn't helpin'."

"What do you think about Erica Schwarz? Do you really think she betrayed the Nazis like she said?"

"Maybe. Stranger things have happened tonight."

"I don't think she did. She's probably just trying to save her own neck," one of the soldiers spat hatefully, "She knew we'd shoot her dead on sight if she didn't come up with somethin'."

"If _I'd_ been the one that found her I would have shot her dead on the spot and not waited around to hear what she had to say."

Professor Broom frowned and limped away from the group on his left. He didn't care for their conversation one bit, though he would have to make sure he asked Whitman about the three missing people the soldiers had mentioned. The descriptions perfectly matched Ilsa Haupstien, General Von Krupt, and Karl Kroenen. _Not good people to have escaped, _Broom reflected as he casually glanced at another group of soldiers.

This group was clustered around a man holding a rosary, who seemed to be telling a story of some kind. Broom spotted Matlin among the group.

"So you were on fence patrol duty when this happened, Alfred?" one soldier asked, directing his question to the man holding the rosary.

"Yes. I had just left to go on duty after Heinrich here," Alfred gestured to a young Aryan man standing beside him, "had just told us this whopper of a story about how he'd been taking mail to the plane and a shadow had knocked him out and then, when he woke up, stolen his handgun and started talking to him in German. Of course we didn't believe him—who would? But within the next ten minutes everyone at the military base believed him, didn't they?"

"What happened?" asked Matlin, nervously wiping at his rain streaked glasses.

"Well, it was a night as dark and windy as this one, and the length of fence I was walking along was dark because the spotlights had turned the other way. I was just minding my own business, when suddenly, I saw one of the shadows near the fence _move_."

Broom wondered if Alfred was just inventing stories to try to scare the other men. After tonight, the soldiers would probably believe anything they heard. But he was a little curious, so he kept listening with half an ear as he warmed up by the fire.

"So I shone my flashlight toward the shadow," continued Alfred, "only the battery was just about dead and that made the light practically useless. The wind died down and I suddenly realized I could hear someone breathing heavily, as if they'd been running. I remembered what Heinrich had said and suspected that there might be a German spy running about, so I did the only sensible thing and pulled out my gun. I ordered the person to show himself or I'd shoot, and nothing happened. I was just about to shoot, when a black cloaked figure came out of the shadows!"

"Oh come on Alfred! You're pulling our legs!" interrupted a soldier, though it sounded more like he was trying to convince himself that it couldn't be true.

"No I'm not! If you'd listen you'd know that! Anyways, I demanded the person to identify himself, and what do you think it answered? Not any German name like I was expecting! It said 'Most know me as the Angel of Death'!"

Broom jerked to attention at the mention of Erica's nickname. His head swiveled around to face the soldiers so fast it was as if he had been struck by a lightening bolt. _The Angel of Death? Why is he talking about Erica? I didn't hear about that happening. Is he making things up, or was she really there?_ Excited and curious, the Professor edged closer to the circle of men.

"Of course, for a moment I thought that I was over and done with, that the grim reaper had come to take my soul away to Heaven, but then the thing came walking toward me, and it moved like a person, so I ordered it not to move. But it kept coming, so I shot at it!"

"Did you hit it?" asked Matlin.

"No, because it _disappeared_! Then I saw it out of the corner of my eye—somehow it had gotten behind me! Then something crashed down on my head and next thing I knew, I was waking up and everyone in the military base is running around me pointing at a gaping hole in the chain link fence and the spotlights are sweeping the grass outside trying to find the thing. One of the lights hit the thing for a moment, and we all caught a glimpse of the black figure before it disappeared. Then everyone was asking me what happened, and when I told them they all acted like I was nuts, until Sergeant Alexandre Barret shows up and starts doing a proper investigation, didn't you, sir?" Alfred asked, directing his words at a dignified looking man standing nearby.

"Yes, I did," Barret replied, "And my superiors weren't at all happy about my results. I would have been in enough trouble if someone had simply broken in, but then there was Heinrich's 'ghost' and your 'angel' thing, and the fact that the person in question disappeared only leaving a rose and some blood behind. We did an inspection of the camp and turned up absolutely nothing. My superiors couldn't believe that nothing have been stolen or tampered with, and I must admit that I found it rather hard to believe myself."

The soldiers murmured, some of them regarding Alfred and Heinrich with awe now that a high ranking officer had confirmed the story. Broom was equally excited, especially now that Barret had mentioned finding a _rose_ at the site! Among people in his profession, it was a well known fact that Erica had a fondness for roses. _Could it be? _The Professor thought, _Could Erica really have been there? But wait—what color was the rose? Erica usually had black ones, even though the one she had tonight was red..._

"And Sergeant Barret walks up to the fence, and at about head height, there was _blood_ on the wires!" said Alfred, "So that proves it wasn't a ghost I was shooting at! Anyways, there was blood on the ground and lying at the bottom of the fence was a _black rose_. I kid you not! A black rose with a red ribbon tied around it. I think Sergeant Barret still has it somewhere—"

_It _was _a black rose!_ Professor Broom thought excitedly, remembering a passage in one of his books that had said Kroenen had a habit of giving black roses to Erica. And on top of that, Alfred had said that the figure had called itself the Angel of Death and Heinrich's ghost had spoken in German. Broom excitedly began considering all the connections—all of which pointed to Erica Schwarz! It was a faint chance, but maybe, just maybe it would lead him to proof that she had betrayed the Nazis. After all, if it was her, and she hadn't taken anything, what exactly had she been doing in a military base belonging to the Allied Forces?

"Excuse me! Excuse me!" Broom interrupted, hobbling over into the center of the group, "Sergeant Barret?"

"Yes?" Barret answered.

"Do you still have that black rose?"

"Yes. Why?"

"Can I see it? It's _very_ important."

Sergeant Barret nodded. "Follow me. It's in my pack."

The Professor followed Barret inside a tent, his excitement giving him the energy to walk faster despite his injured leg. He eagerly stood to the side and watched as the Sergeant dug through his pack and pulled out a long, thin rectangular wooden box.

"Here," Sergeant Barret said, handing Broom the box, who quickly opened it and looked down at the slightly wilted black rose lying inside. There was a crimson ribbon tied around its stem in a bow. "I don't really know why I kept it," Barret said, shrugging, "It was pretty and I had a vague feeling that it might be important later."

"Yes, very important." Broom replied, gently picking up the rose and turning it over in his hands, inspecting it for clues.

"Why do you want to look at it anyway?"

"I think this might help me prove that Erica Schwarz betrayed the Occult."

"Really?" asked Whitman, coming into the tent, "I wanted to see how things were coming, Professor." he said in explanation, "So have you found anything out yet?"

"Only that I suspect Erica Schwarz was at an Allied Forces' military base a few days ago. The story's too long to explain right now, but the important thing is that this rose was left there, and Erica has a fondness for black roses—"

The Professor paused in his narrative as he noticed something about the ribbon tied around the rose. There was writing on it! The writing was spidery and written in black ink. It was also written in German.

"There's writing on here!" Broom exclaimed.

"Yes," Barret said, nodding, "I saw it before, but I was busy writing a report on the night when the rose was found, and then I had to get ready to come here, so I didn't have time to have it translated."

"Then it's a good thing I can read German," Broom said, scrutinizing the lettering. His heart beat faster as he realized what it said. "It says: To my Angel of Death, from Kroenen."

Broom turned to his two surprised companions and addressed Barret. "Barret, could you show me the position of the military base on a map?"

Barret looked puzzled, but he pointed to a small area on a map lying on top of a nearby crate. "Yes. It's right here."

"Hmm. That's pretty far from Germany. I wonder how she would have gotten there without anyone noticing that she was gone," Broom murmured as he studied the map, "Although I'm sure she's capable of pulling it off, of course. I suppose I'll have to ask her when she wakes up."

He gazed at the map, having the vague feeling that he was missing something obvious. His eyes roved over the name of the military base—and his eyes went wide in shock.

"That military base is the same one that the tip off letter was sent from!" Broom exclaimed, "Barret, quickly, what was the date when the base was broken into?"

"October 5, 1944."

Broom did some quick calculations in his head and realized that with traveling time, that was the exact date that the tip-off letter had to be written to have reached the President's desk on October 7th. And since he knew it was impossible for any Allied spies, or any spies, to have written the letter, it had to have been written by Erica!

"Do you realize what this means?" Professor Broom exclaimed, wanting to share his revelation with Whitman and Barret, "The warning letter was sent the _same night_ that the base was broken into! And the rose proves that it was Erica that broke into the base, no one else but she would have been carrying it! And Alfred said the person that broke in called itself The Angel of Death! Heinrich's ghost that spoke to him in German— it all makes sense! And since Erica was the one that carried the letter to the base, she _must _have been the one that wrote it! The letter had classified information in it that no one except someone of her rank or above it would have had access to. And clearly, Ilsa, Kroenen, and Grigory were _not_ traitors to their own cause! _Erica_ was the one who sent the letter!"

Whitman and Barret stood for a moment, absorbing this startling information.

"Isn't it possible that an Allied spy sent the letter? Or even a lower ranking Nazi that decided to turn traitor and spied on the Nazis?" asked Barret.

"No. Allied spies haven't been sent for weeks because Ilsa and Kroenen used Erica's powers to locate the spies. All of the Allied spies were killed within a few hours of arriving. And besides that, it's well known that Erica Schwarz was able to prevent spies from her own side getting access to information. Like the Allied spies, she used her powers to find them—and she killed every single one before they were able to share what they had learned." Broom answered, feeling triumphant.

"Hold it, why would Erica Schwarz do that?" asked Whitman, "Why would she betray her own side, I mean?"

"She said she was trying to save her soul, remember? Maybe she decided at the last minute that she didn't like Project Ragnarok and decided to betray the Thule Occult Society and the Nazis. But really, the only one who knows the answer to that question is Erica."

Whitman gave a low whistle of amazement. "I still can hardly believe that Erica would do that."

"Precisely! That was probably her plan. She knew no one else would think she would dare to do such a thing, and no one would dare to question her if she acted strangely. And if you want further proof that it was her, follow me."

Professor Broom carefully placed the black rose back in the box, and still carrying it, he exited the tent. Sergeant Whitman and Barret followed the Professor as he led the way through the rain and mud to his own tent as fast as his wounded leg would allow him to go. The two Sergeants were almost as excited as Broom was, it was a catching thing.

The tent flap closed behind them, blocking out the weather. Professor Broom caught sight of the sleeping demon-like baby and gestured to Whitman and Barret to be quiet. The two smiled but nodded that they understood. Broom made his way over to the two crates that served as his desk, casting a brief look at Erica. As he did he felt joy swelling his in his heart. _I will be able to save your life, Erica! _he thought.

Professor Broom searched through the items that littered the tops of the crates, and finding the letter, he seized it and scanned the handwritten lines feverishly, searching for more proof. He felt a massive wave of triumph building inside him as he found each part of the puzzle and began putting them together. He read the letter aloud to Sergeant Whitman and Barret, who were probably hearing the letter for the first time in its entirety.

"To the President of the United States: The Nazis are desperate. They have combined science and black magic with the intention of upsetting the balance of the war. In the process they have joined forces with the Thule Occult Society and together they have worked on Project Ragnarok. I risk much more than my life by sending this, and I can only pray that this reaches you in time to prevent a hellish cataclysm beyond your worst nightmares: the release of the Ogdru Jahad, the Seven Gods of Chaos. This event will take place on a small island off the coast of Scotland, where the ruins of Trondham Abbey lie over and intersection of Ley Lines, and on October 9, 1944 an assortment of Nazi soldiers and Thule Occult Society officials will be present. I have little hope of stopping them on my own, but I will do everything in my power to prevent their success. You _must_ act before it's too late. The failure of this project will be a fatal blow to the Nazis and the Thule Society. Sincerely, A Friend."

Broom paused and then addressed the two Sergeants.

"Clearly only someone involved with _both_ the Nazis and the Thule Occult Society could have sent this, and Erica fits that constraint. And the line: _'I risk much more than my life by sending this'_. That alone suggests that the letter was written by a person who has a high rank in the Thule Occult Society, a person like Erica. Believe me, there are terrible consequences for people of Erica's high rank who betray the Thule Society. Should the traitor be found out and caught, they would be ritually sacrificed—killed by the Head of the Thule Occult Society. But that isn't the worst of it. The ritual would ensure that the traitor's soul would be destroyed as well. That's what the writer—Erica—meant when she wrote that she was risking more that her life. She _knew_ she was risking her soul," Broom said solemnly, "Erica wouldn't just betray them lightly or on a whim such as a battle going against her. She knew what she was doing—and what could happen to her if her plan failed."

"Whoa." Sergeant Whitman said, for once in his life at a loss for words.

"Even now she's in danger of that happening to her in the future. I'm not sure if you're aware of this Sergeant, but I heard from some of the soldiers that General Von Krupt, Ilsa Haupstien, and Karl Kroenen are missing among the dead."

"Crap." cursed Whitman, "I'll have to send people out to verify that as soon as we're finished here."

"There's just one thing I don't understand," Barret said, "Why didn't Kroenen kill her? I saw those two fighting. He must have figured out what she'd done. And if he's the Head of the Thule Society…"

Professor Broom saw what Barret meant. "Personally, I think Kroenen might have been a little hesitant to kill her. She was his favorite after all. They were friends."

"I have one last question. How do we know for sure that it was her? I mean, that she was the one at the base? It could have been some other German that got a hold of the rose and dropped it by the fence to make it look like she was there." Whitman said, though he didn't look like he believed in his own words.

Broom thought for a moment as he reviewed what he had figured out. He turned and looked at Erica's sleeping form and saw thin, scabbed over lines on the right side of her neck and face— scratches that were a few days old. _Wait, scratches? Didn't Alfred mention something about blood being on the fence at the military base? _Broom thought.

"Where would the fence wires have scratched her, if she was the intruder at the military base?" he asked Barret.

"Well, the blood was at about head height on the right side of the hole in the fence, so probably on the right side of her face. Why?" sergeant Barret asked.

"Just look." Broom replied, pointing to the scratches on the right side of Erica's face and neck.

"Well, that settles it, doesn't it?" Whitman stated, "Erica Schwarz is a traitor. Professor, talk to her if she wakes up and see if you can find out more. Now, if you two will excuse me, I had better concentrate on sending soldiers to find those three you said were missing."

"I had better go too." Barret said, and ducked out of the tent.

Sergeant Whitman followed him and was just about to leave, when he paused in the entrance. "By the way, Professor," Whitman said, "I really do believe you. I never thought you'd be able to prove Erica Schwarz was a traitor, but you did. Congratulations."

Whitman smiled and then exited the tent, letting the flap close after him.

Broom smiled triumphantly, feeling happy and content. The pieces had fallen into place, everything fit perfectly! Professor Broom had done what moments ago he had thought was impossible: proved conclusively that Erica was a traitor, and had been for at least five days.

_I wonder why she decided to fight against her own side? What made her change her mind?_ He wondered, _I suppose that she could have foreseen that the Nazis would lose the battle—but no, if she had she could have figured out how to turn the battle in the Nazis favor._ _Maybe she simply decided that what she was doing was evil. She was holding a crucifix necklace, and she did say that she had been trying to save her soul._

He watched the flickering lantern light cast dancing shadows over Erica's pale, peaceful face. _Perhaps good can arise out of evil,_ he thought, _Even as evil arises from good._

Unfortunately—or perhaps fortunately after all—Kroenen wasn't there to tell Professor Broom how right he was.

Author's Notes: I hope you liked what happened to Von Krupt, and that I brought back some of the characters from earlier chapters. And don't worry, I won't leave you hanging, part two will be up tomorrow at the latest. And if you have any ideas for my sequel, please tell me about them. _Please, _review!


	20. Epilogue Part Two

Chapter Twenty: Epilogue, Part Two: Relative Safety

Disclaimer: Hellboy characters do not belong to me. However, Erica and the plot are mine.

Author's Notes: What? No reviews? You made me sad :( Oh well; here it is, Part Two of the Epilogue, which finishes tying everything together, while throwing in a bunch of humor to lighten things up. There's also some slight humor at Kroenen's and Ilsa's expense—considering Ilsa ends up drunk and Kroenen is well on his way there! As always here are the German to English translations: 'Ja' is yes, 'Nein' is no, and 'Danke' is thank you. Enjoy the last chapter!

"The truth. It is a beautiful and terrible thing, and must therefore be treated with great caution."—J. K. Rowling

_October10, 1944_

_The Ruins of Trondham Abbey, Scotland_

_1:00 in the Morning_

Erica somehow knew she was lying on her back. Somehow meaning that she wasn't awake. She was somewhere between being awake and being asleep, just content with existing. She was dimly aware of herself: she knew her body felt…_odd,_ like something was wrong. But she was too sleepy to care at the moment. She could hear distant murmuring voices and the sound of footsteps and a strange, bitter cold feeling on her chest and neck. She dreamily considered this feeling until she realized that it was her silver watch. The watch and its silver chain were very cool against her warm skin, and she could just barely feel the rhythmical ticking of gears that seemed to complement the distant and vague sound of her beating heart.

Erica was just starting to slide deeper into sleep when the sounds of someone breathing and walking nearer to her jerked her awake. Her eyes flew open, and even before she had oriented herself to the situation, her eyes spotted a man's foot a few inches from her face. Erica's right arm shot out instinctively and grabbed the man's ankle, causing the man to give a startled yelp. She reached for the baton sword strapped to her leg only to realize that it wasn't there—someone had taken all of her weapons. She heard the man clear his throat and she looked up and into a very shocked Professor Broom's face.

Relief flooded through her. "You startled me, Professor," she said, releasing her death grip on Broom's ankle, "Not a wise thing to do. I'm a light sleeper, and men much stronger that you have _died_ most unpleasantly because they made the same mistake you just did." Erica fell silent and examined her surroundings from her position on the floor. She realized that she was in a tent, and she could hear soldiers moving and talking outside. "Where am I?" she asked, instantly trying to get up as all her fears from the battle flooded back to her. As she sat up a sharp pain lanced through her shoulder and into her chest, taking her breath away. She gasped for breath and fell back on the blankets. Professor Broom knelt next to her.

"Shhh. It's alright. We're in a makeshift camp near the ruins. You're safe." Broom said gently.

"Safe?" she repeated, uncomprehendingly. She looked at his good natured face and for a moment she believed him, but then she realized that safety, for her, was only a temporary thing if not completely nonexistent. "Safe?" Erica asked disbelievingly, as she propped herself up on her elbows, "Both Ilsa and Kroenen escaped and now I'm in the middle of a camp of Allied soldiers, all of which are probably cursing my name and secretly inventing plots to kill me."

"You're safe from the soldiers," Professor Broom said reassuringly. Then, seeing her expression of complete disbelief, he stood up and sat on a nearby crate. "I managed to prove to Sergeant Whitman that you betrayed the Nazis and the Thule Occult Society. He has forbidden the soldiers to harm you. But as for Ilsa and Kroenen…you're right. We haven't found their bodies. They're missing. So is General Von Krupt. We sent soldiers to search the ruins and surrounding area, but they haven't found anything. It's as if those three just disappeared."

Erica wasn't at all surprised by this news. She remembered seeing Ilsa run off into the night after Grigory had been pulled into the portal, and Kroenen had disappeared into the darkness after talking to her. As for Von Krupt, Erica hadn't seen him since a few minutes into the battle. All three had probably met up and escaped together.

"Our ships," Erica murmured.

"What?" Broom asked.

"Our ships. That's where they are. They've escaped you. You won't find them, they're gone," she said confidently, almost as if she was standing up for the people she had just betrayed. And in a way she was. _I only wanted to stop them, not kill them. It's best this way, _she thought. Then she considered what this meant. _I might be safe from the soldiers, but Ilsa and Kroenen…_She realized Professor Broom was peering at her expectantly through his glasses.

"Even if your soldiers don't kill me, Ilsa and Kroenen will. I trust that someone in your position knows what the Occult does to people like me who betray them?"

As she spoke he could see the fear in her eyes. And who could blame her for being afraid? He knew what must be going on in her head: she had to be terrified. He knew the Ogdru Jahad would be out for her blood, and from the look on her face, she clearly knew it too.

"Yes," he answered heavily, "Yes I do know what they do to traitors." He studied her face curiously. She was definitely unusual, and not just because she was a former Nazi who wasn't Aryan. Now that she was awake, he could see that her grey eyes were even more unusual and striking than in the black and white photograph in his book. And even with her just propped up on the floor, he could tell that she was very tall for a woman. _If I stood next to her she'd probably stand several inches taller than myself,_ he thought. She also would have been fairly pretty if she didn't look like a group of thugs had beaten her half to death. Her voice was unusual and very pleasant at the same time: she had a peculiar accent, almost as if she had originally spoken English, but had then spent so much time in Germany that she had picked up a German accent. _But that's impossible,_ he thought. But then he had a moment of doubt. So many things he had thought were true about her had ended up to be false. _Is it possible? After all, no one knows anything about where she came from…_But there would be time for that later. Right now he wanted to find out if his theory about her was right.

"Speaking of traitors, do you have any idea how the Allied Forces found out about Project Ragnarok?" Professor Broom asked, "Or was it a complete surprise to you when we attacked you? And tell the truth, please, because your answer will determine what will happen to you."

Erica looked at him sharply, instantly suspecting there was a trap hidden in his words. _Why would he want to know that?_ She wondered, _Does he think I would know? I mean, of course I know how they found out—_I _wrote the letter! But he'll never believe me, will he? Of course, if I lie, I could make things worse. Perhaps it's best to go along with him and tell him. It can't hurt me after all, even if he doesn't believe me._ She sighed, surprised that she trusted him so much and that she felt so comfortable in the company of someone that had been an enemy.

"Ja, I know how the Allied Forces found out. And I wasn't surprised to see the Allied soldiers—I was expecting them," she admitted. She sighed. "This may be too much for you to believe, but four days ago I wrote a letter to the President of the United States, warning him about what was going to happen tonight."

"Go on," Broom encouraged, his voice betraying his excitement.

"I used a transportation spell to get to an area near a military base belonging to the Allied Forces. I snuck in and knocked out a young man carrying a bag of urgent mail and managed to slip my letter into the bag. A few minutes later he woke up and put the bag of mail on a plane. The plane left that night. You might not believe me but—"

"It _was_ you!" Broom exclaimed, no longer able to contain his joy that he had been right. "I knew it! I knew it! I knew you had to have written it! I knew this wasn't a trap like the soldiers said! I was wondering about the letter, you see, because I _knew_ you would have caught any spies that tried to send it. Of course, the idea that you had written the letter never crossed my mind until tonight after the battle, mostly because I thought no one with a rank as high as yours would betray their own side. At least, it didn't occur to me until I saw you fighting Kroenen." Broom babbled on, more to himself then to Erica. "And a transportation spell! I did wonder how you would have gotten so far away without anyone noticing that you were missing."

"You knew? But how—?" she asked, surprised that he had been able to figure it out so quickly.

"It's a long story, I'll explain it later. But I will show you the thing that let me know for sure that you had been at that military base—besides the cuts on your face, of course."

Erica self-consciously put a hand to her cheek and neck, touching the thin scratches on her skin. She watched as Professor Broom turned away from her and picked up a long, thin wooden box from the top of one of the crates. He handed it to her.

"What is it?" she asked, curious.

"Open it."

She pushed back the lid and gasped as she recognized the black rose that lay inside. True, it might be slightly wilted, but there was no mistaking that rose with the crimson bow tied around its stem. Erica stared at it, remembering that when she had gotten back from the military base she had noticed the rose was missing from her pocket. _I was right, _she thought, _I did lose it there!_

Professor Broom watched Erica as she gently picked up the rose, her face clearly displaying that she recognized the rose.

"How did you get this?" she asked quietly.

"The Sergeant from the military base kept it after he found it by the hole in the fence. He gave it to me."

She nodded. "I thought that was where I might have lost it…But how did you know this belonged to me?"

"Simple. I just read the words on the ribbon."

"The words on the—?" Erica asked, glancing from him to the rose.

Broom thought she meant that she was surprised he could read German. "Yes. I know some German. I can speak it and read it. It was—"

Broom suddenly noticed she wasn't paying attention to him and was turning the rose over in her hands and squinting at it as if trying to find the words on the ribbon. _But that's ridiculous, _he thought, _she must have known they were there. Or didn't she?_ He wondered, watching her expression as she found the words written on the ribbon.

"I never saw these before!" she exclaimed, anxiously scanning the spidery writing that she recognized as Kroenen's handwriting. _To my Angel of Death, from Kroenen,_ she thought, reading the single sentence over and over again.

"How did I miss the words?" she said, more to herself then Broom, "I was so afraid that he had caught me just as I was going to send the letter that I guess—but it doesn't matter now. What's done is done, and I wouldn't take it back even if I could. But still…they must hate me. _He_ must hate me."

She absentmindedly ran her hand over the "T" Kroenen had cut into her left cheek.

"What's that?" Broom asked, gesturing at the cut on her face, "It looks like someone did it on purpose to you."

"Ja. And that _someone_ was Kroenen. It's a 'T' for _traitor_." she said, remembering what Kroenen had told her.

Erica glanced down at herself, examining her body for injuries. It wasn't hard to find them: her entire body felt like one huge bruise. Not surprising, considering what Kroenen was capable of doing to someone_. I'm truly lucky to be alive,_ she thought, wincing as she gently touched the spot on her ribs that Kroenen had kicked repeatedly. Her ribs felt like they were fractured or badly bruised—or possibly both. Her wrist was swollen and probably sprained, thanks to Kroenen twisting her arm and then throwing her into a wall. Her left shoulder hurt worst of all. The entire area around the stab wound throbbed painfully with every breath, and every time she moved her arm slightly, sharp pains shot down her arm and across her chest. _I can't remember ever feeling this bad,_ she thought. The last time she had felt anywhere close to this bad was how she had felt after a particularly vicious training session when Kroenen had literally tossed her off the balcony, and then jumped down and thrown her across the courtyard. _Oh wait, _she thought, _That's what happened, more or less._ Erica grinned wryly at Professor Broom.

"Kroenen wounded me worse than I thought." she said simply.

She noticed that Professor Broom was staring at her wounds and scars, obviously shocked at how many there were. She smiled lopsidedly at him, unable to smile properly because of the "T" cut into her cheek.

"This is nothing compared to what Kroenen looks like." she said.

_What does she mean? Why would he look worse that that? Is that why he wears that mask?_ _I wonder what happened to him—and her, _Broom thought. Then a terrible thought struck him._ Kroenen couldn't possibly have—_

"Did Kroenen do _that_ to you?" he asked in a horrified tone, gesturing at the revealed scars. He had a vaguely sick feeling those were only a fraction of the scars that covered her body.

"Some of them, yes, but he never intentionally hurt me—until tonight. Not that I blame him, of course. If he had killed me it wouldn't have surprised me."

"Did it surprise you that he didn't kill you?"

"Yes," she answered, her voice soft, "Yes it did." She fingered the silver watch pendent hanging from her necklace and glanced sadly at the initials engraved into the back: _K.R.K._

"Do you have any idea why he didn't? That _is_ what he was supposed to do, as the Head of the Thule Occult Society."

She shot him a stony look. "Why do you want to know?"

"Because Karl Kroenen wasn't known as a merciful man."

She regarded him for a moment. "What you really mean is you think he didn't kill me because he wanted me to spy on you."

"Well yes, some of the men are saying that." Broom was secretly surprised at how perceptive Erica was. It was like she could read what he was thinking. But that probably came of her hard life of having to anticipate the actions of assassins.

"You already know I'm not a spy—you proved it yourself. But I'll answer you anyway. I'm not exactly sure why he didn't kill me. I think—I think he couldn't bring himself to do it."

"Why?"

She turned fierce, stormy eyes on him. "Don't ask questions to which you already know the answers. You're a paranormal advisor to the president, and you _know_ all about the Thule Occult Society and its members. You _know_ all about me and Kroenen."

"I know it was said you were his favorite."

"Yes, I was. And that, perhaps, is why I'm still alive." she said grimly, "Though he certainly did a good job of beating the Hell out of me."

Broom watched as she fingered the watch pendent hanging from her necklace. The light caught on an engraving on the back of the watch, and a set of initials jumped out at him: _K.R.K._

"Did he give that to you?" Broom asked, assuming that the initials stood for Karl Ruprecht Kroenen.

"Yes."

"May I see it?" he asked holding out his hand.

She gripped it tightly and took on a defensive posture. Or at least as defensive as an injured person propped up on their elbows can be. "Why?"

"To make sure some evil power isn't lurking around it."

"There isn't."

"I don't know that."

She considered him for a moment. "If I give it to you, do you promise to give it back?"

"Is it so precious to you, a gift from the man you betrayed?"

"In a strange way, yes, it is. I don't know why…" She looked at her watch sadly and turned it over in her fingers, distantly amazed that she felt so comfortable revealing all of this to someone that had been an enemy. "In a way," she said, "I love this clock and hate it, just like the man that gave it to me."

"Could you really call Karl Kroenen a man?" asked Professor Broom quietly.

"He is more than a man, he is something else, though I can't name it and don't know whether it is entirely evil. He was my teacher—he was like a father to me," she sobbed suddenly, barely holding back her tears, "And I _betrayed_ him—I knew I had no choice, there was nothing else I could do, no other way to stop them unless I openly fought against him." She clutched the silver watch so tightly that the metal bit into her palm. "In a way I hate myself for what I've done—and in another way, I know it was the right thing to do."

She took the necklace off and handed it to Professor Broom.

Broom examined the watch, and finding nothing, handed it back to her. Erica quickly slipped the chain over her head.

"Why did you do it? I mean, betray them?" Professor Broom asked quietly, but clearly deeply curious, "What changed your mind?"

Erica sighed deeply, and a look of sadness crept into her grey eyes, eyes that were as stormy and full of conflict as the sky outside. "Because I realized what I was doing was wrong. I realized I was a murderer. And I couldn't just stand by and let the world be destroyed. Even then, I didn't want to hurt Ilsa and Kroenen. I just wanted to stop them, not kill them. Perhaps that was a mistake. Even though I don't want to hurt them, they surely want to kill me. And now that they've missing—"

"What of it? You're safe with us. You don't have to be afraid of them. Grigory Rasputin is gone, and he's never coming back." Broom said, trying to reassure her.

A mental image of a worn leather book came into Erica's mind—the book Grigory had given to Ilsa. The book that would bring him back— _The book I didn't get away from her! Oh no!_

"_Nein! Damn it!_" Erica suddenly shouted, sitting up. She immediately regretted it as her shoulder twinged painfully.

"What?" asked Broom, looking very shocked.

"The book Grigory gave to Ilsa—I didn't get it away from her! Rasputin _will_ be coming back! And once that happens nothing will stop them from coming after me! I won't be able to escape from them a second time, they'll make sure of it!"

"We defeated them once, we can do it again. And next time we'll have you on our side, and you'll be able to use more of your knowledge against them. We will not let them destroy the world, have no doubt of that."

Erica nodded. There was nothing else to say.

Broom smiled at her, and then remembered something.

"There's someone I'd like you to meet." he said.

"Who?" Erica asked, instantly curious.

Professor Broom limped over to the space behind the desk of crates. He bent down and picked up something that at first glance appeared to be nothing but a balled up blanket. Erica pushed herself up on her arms in order to see better and brushed several loose strands of her hair out of her face. She was just about to ask what he was doing, when he stepped into the glow of lantern light and turned the bundle towards her. Erica stared at the red 'thing' cradled in the Professor's arms. If someone else had been watching, they might have found the contrast amusing: the Professor was smiling like a proud father, and Erica was staring in horror at the cooing and gurgling red demon that Broom was holding in his arms.

"Good Lord!" Erica exclaimed.

"Shhh! You'll scare the baby!"

"Baby!" Erica said, disbelievingly, her eyes wide.

"Isn't he sweet? I just found him tonight."

But Erica's mind was somewhere else entirely from where Broom's was.

"The books said you were Catholic." Erica said, her eyes fixed on Professor Broom and the wriggling 'baby'.

"I am."

She raised an eyebrow. "And yet you carry a demon around in your arms."

Broom half-scowled at her. "And how would you know he's a demon?" he asked.

"Please, think who you're talking to, Professor. If I didn't know what a demon looked like I'd have been dead long ago."

Professor Broom walked around the desk and took a seat on a crate, all the while cooing to the 'baby'. Erica followed him with her eyes.

"Not that anyone around here cares what I have to say, but that's a demon. Or, actually, a half demon, if you want to get technical." she said.

Broom ignored her. "Don't listen to a word she says," Broom said to the demon child, using the over-exaggerated voice people use when talking to babies. "You're just the cutest little boy I've ever seen."

Erica rolled her eyes and sighed. "Where did you find him?" she asked.

"In the ruins." Broom answered.

"And it didn't occur to you that he came through the portal? That Rasputin sent him through?"

"Yes, it did." he admitted. He absentmindedly arranged the blanket that the 'baby' was wrapped in.

"Then why didn't you kill him?"

"In cold blood!" exclaimed the Professor, shocked, "That's murder! He's just a child!"

"He's a _demon_," Erica insisted, "And Grigory Rasputin sent him here with a purpose—to destroy the world!"

"And _you're_ a wanted murderer who was working for Grigory Rasputin on a plan to destroy the world!" retorted Professor Broom.

"Then the demon and I should make great friends." Erica said sarcastically, gazing at the Hell child distrustfully.

Broom gently put the baby down on his bed of blankets and then turned to face Erica.

"Erica, listen. I know he's a demon. That's something that I can't change. But I can raise him to be one of us—I know I can! No one is in a better position than myself to raise a demon so he isn't evil. I know you don't trust him, but think about it, if I don't take care of him, what will happen to him?"

Erica lay back and closed her eyes. Her headache was getting worse, and their short conversation had left her feeling weak. _I really _don't_ need a demon on top of how bad I feel, _she thought, _I just can't deal with both!_

"Professor Broom, I wish you the best of luck," she said, "Believe me, you're going to need it."

"What do you mean, the best of luck?" Broom asked, walking closer to her, "I'm not going to be doing it alone."

Erica heard the clever tone in his voice and opened her eyes to look at him. She knew from the expression on his face what he was suggesting. "Oh no!" Erica said, shaking her head.

"Oh yes. You're going to help me. Who else better to help me than someone who knows so much about demons? And it'll give the Allied Forces a reason not to throw you in jail."

Erica grimaced. Thanks to Kroenen's training, she knew she could break out of any jail the Allied Forces threw her in, but what would be the point? She would have nowhere to go. "Fine. But if anything happens, don't say I didn't warn you."

Broom grinned at her and then limped over to his desk and sat down. She watched as he pulled out a journal from his wooden box and started writing in it. Erica closed her eyes and drifted off to sleep, listening to the sound of book pages being turned and the intermittent scratching of a pen as the Professor wrote in his journal.

XXXXX

The first thing Erica became aware of was that she was standing somewhere. She couldn't tell where she was, other than she had never been anywhere like it before.

_Wherever 'here' is, _she thought, examining her peculiar surroundings.

She was surrounded by a darkness that was pitch black, except somehow there seemed to be enough dim light for her to see the copious amounts of a dull, blood red mist. The mist floated around her like fog, contorting into shapes that played tricks on her eyes. The ground was indistinguishable from the sky or anything else around her. She couldn't even see if she was standing _on_ anything, it just _felt _like it. She gazed cautiously around her, having the vague sensation that something was wrong and that she was in danger.

Erica noticed that one of the contorting mist shapes was coming closer to her and getting more solid the closer it got to her. She studied it and soon realized it wasn't mist at all. _But what is it? _she wondered, staring at the approaching thing.

Suddenly the veil of mist parted and Grigory strode towards her out of the blackness, the red fog swirling around him and his long, red embroidered black robes trailing on the ground. Erica instinctively jumped back, staring at him. Her sense of dread and terror was unimaginable.

_How can he be here? _She thought wildly, _He's gone! He _can't_ be here!_

"Welcome, Erica." Grigory said mockingly, holding his arms out at his sides as if to embrace her, "We've been waiting for you."

Grigory's smile was disturbing and his dark eyes glittered strangely.

_Wait,_ Erica thought, studying his face with a growing horror,_ he doesn't _have_ eyes_. She stared at his empty eye sockets. They were so dark that the holes seemed to go far deeper than was possible. It was like standing on the edge of an abyss and staring down into its depths.

"As you might imagine, I'm not very pleased with you, Erica." he said, turning his head so that his empty eye sockets were staring at her.

A roaring sound rose from the darkness around them and quickly grew in volume. It was louder than anything Erica had ever heard in her life. She put her hands to her ears in a vain attempt to shut out the terrible noise. The roar was so intense that everything around her seemed to be shaking and vibrating in place. Even her heart seemed to tremble, as if the noise was so loud that the vibrations were disrupting the normal rhythms of her heart. Her head was pounding, but the noise continued to grow louder until it seemed to be crushing the very breath from her lungs and she couldn't hear her own terrified thoughts. Grigory didn't seem to be affected. He stood in place, watching her with those terrible empty eye sockets as the sound pounded at her body. Then, just as suddenly as it had begun, the noise stopped, though the echoes hung in the air for several moments before they completely faded.

Erica took her hands away from her ears and gasped for breath. Her ears were ringing and felt like they were bleeding, though she knew they were not. _Nothing can make that much noise—except the Ogdru Jahad,_ she thought,_ And they sound like they're _way_ beyond being furious._

Grigory Rasputin smiled at her as if absolutely nothing had happened. "The Ogdru Jahad are _extremely_ displeased with you." he said. His voice was soft and very calm, but it had an overlying poisonous quality to it that made Erica back away from him, truly afraid of what he might do to her. Grigory chuckled darkly. "You can't run from me." he said.

Despite his words she turned her back on him and ran—and stopped abruptly, less than an inch from running into him. She stumbled backwards, staring at him in confusion and fear. _How did he get there? It's impossible!_ She thought wildly.

Rasputin smiled again, and she felt her stomach turn. "You can't run from me. I am a part of you." he gestured at her and she felt—no, _saw_—a faint shadow writhe over her skin and then settle and finally disappear. She stared in horror.

"I must congratulate you on your cleverness. But as you see, you're not quite as clever as you thought."

Grigory appeared next to her and she jumped back only to find that he had disappeared again. She turned her head and saw him striding toward her again, his black robes billowing around him.

"You thought you had escaped us! Fool!" he spat.

She tried to run, but he appeared in front of her again, his angry face inches from her own as she cowered back, feeling his dark power pouring out at her. His empty eye sockets seemed to blaze with fire.

"Did you think I would let you go so easily? Traitor! You can never escape! You broke a pact sealed in blood! You belong to us! Our blood is in your veins, just as yours is in ours! You can _never _escape us! Your oath was made in _blood_, and you know that breaking it can only be paid by spilling all of your _life's blood_! The Ogdru Jahad will never rest until you are _dead_!" he yelled. His voice echoed horribly in the blackness around them.

Erica had never seen Rasputin so angry. She was afraid, but something inside her surged up, demanding that she stand up against him.

"Oaths are made to catch fools with!" she replied.

"Really!" Grigory shouted, "And what of your oath not to harm the Allied soldiers? Is that a lie too? You know it isn't! And when you swore to help us you weren't lying, and you know it! You meant it! Your blood oath still binds you to us! It is something you can never escape from! Your very blood will lead us to you, wherever you are."

Grigory vanished and appeared a few feet away, looking somewhat calmer. Erica could feel herself shaking. "So, it comes to a choice." he said.

"Choice?" she asked cautiously, unsure of what he meant.

"Yes. You can either die as a sacrifice, or you can come back to us and die serving the Ogdru Jahad upon my return."

"Come back? Come _back!_ Never!" she shouted at him, anger welling up inside her, "I'll never serve you again! I'll _never _bow to you or those _things_ you call gods!"

Everything went dead silent. Her own pounding heartbeat was as loud as thunder in the absolute silence. She knew she had gone too far. Grigory froze, standing perfectly still, watching her. It was obvious that he could hear her heart racing with fear. A small, knowing, and very disquieting smile suddenly appeared on Grigory's lips. "Oh no, Erica, that's where you're wrong. One day you'll come back to us. I'll _make_ you."

"I'll never return to you. _Never!_"

"You'll be back! You'll come back to us, crawling and begging to be taken back, pleading for our forgiveness!"

"In your dreams!" she retorted.

"I wouldn't be rude, if I were you. I'm the only one that can save you from death."

"I can save _myself_," she said, full of determination, "I won't give you a chance to get anywhere near me!"

"Save yourself? Yes, you were very successful with that tonight weren't you?" Grigory said sarcastically, "If it hadn't been for Kroenen's moment of weakness, you'd be _dead_ now! And because you're alive, because of what you are—what's _in_ you—I know that one day, one day _Acire_, you'll be kneeling on the floor at my feet whimpering like a _dog_, imploring me to take you back."

Erica stood stiffly, her back ramrod straight. "I'll _never_ beg you for anything, least of all to take me back! And as far as I'm concerned you can go to _Hell!_" she spat defiantly.

Grigory only shook his head slowly and smiled at her. "I must admit, you are brave. Perhaps too much so. But I'll still break you. Pride will be the death of you."

"I'd rather _die_ than come crawling back to you!"

"I assure you that can be easily arranged," Grigory said in an ominous tone of voice, "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have much to do."

He turned as if to leave and then paused and turned back to face her.

"I forgot something." he said.

Erica intuitively she knew the tone in his voice meant trouble. She felt her stomach clench and her body tense. Grigory walked towards her until he was only a few feet away. "Consider it a…'parting gift'," he said, "I give you the gift of your life and of keeping your immortality and eternal youth, since it suits my own purposes for you, and because I can't kill you here. However, that doesn't mean I won't _punish_ you."

He smiled wickedly at her and she began to slowly back away. Her eyes darted back and forth, searching her surroundings. For some reason she had a feeling that Grigory himself wouldn't be the thing that was going to 'punish' her. The swirling red mist contorted into monstrous shapes, only to fade away. In the background Grigory was quietly laughing at her. Her mind was filled with an unidentifiable sense of fear and dread. _Come on, _she thought, _where are y—?_

Something rustled behind her.

She turned around and stood frozen at the sight that met her eyes. Her jaw dropped. Something that looked like a fifteen foot high wave of darkness was pouring and racing towards her. By the time it occurred to her to run, she was knocked to the ground and the blackness was pressing in on all sides. The wave of shadow blinded her and wrapped tightly around her, cutting off her breathing. It was like a huge, cold ebony constricting snake was wrapped around her, crushing her, but she could still thrash around as easily as if nothing was there. Erica gasped for air and felt the freezing cold shadow thing pour into her mouth and try to go down her throat. She gagged violently and forcibly spit it back out. She could hear Grigory laughing at her. His dark, mirthless laughter seared her soul. Suddenly, the blankness disappeared, and as she gasped for breath she realized she was lying flat on her back at Grigory's feet. He looked down at her, clearly amused by her completely futile efforts to escape.

"Don't care for my parting gift, my dear? Believe me, it's only a fraction of the suffering I will cause you upon my return. And when that happens, may whatever god you believe in have mercy on your soul. Until then, _pleasant dreams_."

He laughed and suddenly the shadow thing was back, pouncing on her like a panther and then enfolding her in its smothering depths. The thing blinded her, so she couldn't see that Grigory was gone, but she could feel that he was. But something else had her full attention to the point where she was starting to panic: she couldn't breathe! And _still_ the blackness tightened its grip on her. Erica thrashed and struggled, but all her efforts were useless. She screamed in frustration.

"AAAAAaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhh!"

The scream scared Professor Broom half to death. He spun around and jumped to his feet, yelling in pain as his knee twinged painfully. His eyes quickly darted over to where Erica lay, immediately expecting the worst: that one of the soldiers was trying to kill her or that Kroenen had come back to finish her off. But no one was there, only Erica. Broom was surprised at the amount of relief he felt at finding her safe, but he was also extremely alarmed. Erica was convulsing and tearing at the air with her hands. He limped over to her side as fast as his injured knee would allow and shook her.

"Erica! Wake up!"

She jerked awake, gasping for breath. Her pupils were so dilated that the grey iris was barely visible. Over by the desk the demon baby chirped in a concerned manner, and looked at Erica with huge, frightened eyes. She glanced over at the demon and then up at the Professor.

"Was it a nightmare?" Professor Broom asked.

"Ja. Nein. It was real. Grigory was there, he can get into my dreams, though he can't kill me there. He told me he's coming back."

Broom could only look at her, his mind full of worry.

"We'll be ready for him," he assured her, "We'll be ready for him."

XXXXX

_October 10, 1944_

_An Abandoned Castle in Norway_

_5:00 in the Morning_

Ilsa and Kroenen had arrived at last.

Kroenen was in much worse shape then when they had departed from Scotland. And he was in an even fouler mood.

All thanks to his Angel.

"_Damn_ her!" Kroenen raged, limping and pulling himself along by holding on to one of the sparse furnishings in the castle with his right hand. He stumbled awkwardly over to a chair, barely catching himself before he fell. Behind him Ilsa dazedly wandered into the castle carrying the worn leather book Grigory had given to her. She shut and bolted the huge wooden doors, before sitting in a chair front of the cold, empty fireplace. She stared straight ahead, her face blank and her blue eyes faraway.

Kroenen stumbled over to a table, his top half flopping around because of his extensive back injuries. Not much was holding his torso together since he had cut himself free of the spike that had impaled him.

He held onto the edge of the table with his right hand and tried to push himself over to the railing of the stairs that led to the upper levels of the castle. He missed and crashed to the stone floor in a heap.

"_Scheiße!_" he yelled gutturally.

He tried to stand up but only collapsed again. From his position on the floor he looked at Ilsa for help, but she was too dazed to realize he needed help, and probably wouldn't have been able to motivate herself if she had. It was like she was off in another world. But Kroenen had to get to his lab so he could repair himself, so he did the only thing he could do: he half crawled, half dragged himself up the stone steps and down the hall to his lab. He pushed at the door to his lab. It didn't move.

"_Scheiße!_" he cursed again.

He was angry, and even angrier that he had been reduced to crawling, and now this door _dared_ to defy him! Driven by determination and anger, he grabbed a dagger from his belt and swung it at the door.

SMASH!

The lock broke and the door swung open. He crawled inside and dragged himself up and onto the stainless steel work surface of the operating table in the center of the room. He collapsed on the table and lay there for a moment, panting and gasping for breath. He listened to the harsh rasping sound that breathing through his mask produced and thought how loud it was in the almost eerie stillness. Even the gentle pitter patter of his sand-like blood spilling out onto the table was loud in the silence.

_How weak I must look, Hitler's top assassin reduced to scrambling and struggling about like a spider missing half of its legs,_ he thought cynically.

Kroenen knew his body was a wreck. He could feel the multiple bullets lodged in his torso and knew that several of his vertebrae had been crushed by the pole that had impaled him. His left hand was probably in shreds and several of his ribs had broken when he had wrenched himself off the pole. He knew he desperately needed to repair himself, but he just couldn't concentrate on that at the moment. Despite his ability to ignore physical pain, his injuries were so severe that it was impossible for him to do so now. Even worse than his physical pain was the mental and emotional anguish he was experiencing. He had never felt so weak in his entire life. He was grateful for Ilsa's presence, even if she was downstairs with her mind in some other plane of existence. After all, he was going to need Ilsa's help for some of his repairs, since the best person to help him with his repairs had betrayed him.

He rolled over on his stomach, shed his trench coat and pushed up the sleeve of his black body suit. He carefully pulled off the remains of his black leather gloves. The sight that met him was exactly what he had expected, but seeing that it was the truth made it a hundred times worse. His left hand was in shreds, the five fingers barely recognizable among the blood and tatters of skin and muscle. A long cut ran from his wrist down to the middle of his forearm on opposite sides of his arm, marking the place where she had stabbed his arm.

"Damn her! _Damn_ her!" he cursed, staring at the mangled ruin that had once been his left hand. "I taught her and how did she repay me? With this!"

_It's ironic, really,_ he thought wryly, _The first day I met her, she bit my hand to the bone. And now, the last day, she's completely destroyed it._

He bitterly wondered how long Erica had contemplated her treachery, how long she had played them false. It had probably all begun the day he had found her in her wrecked study with tearstains on her cheeks. That was when she had started acting strangely. _Why didn't I guess what had happened before it was too late?_ he berated himself. He could have averted last night's disaster if he had only dared to suspect that she was a traitor. But he secretly knew he would never have even thought about it.

_I trusted her so much,_ he thought angrily, _So much!_

How could she have lied to him with a straight face, knowing full well he would know she was lying? How could she have done this to them? To him? After all their hard work and sacrifice? No, the question wasn't _how_. It was _why_. It didn't matter to him how she had done it, he only cared about _why_.

It was a simple word, a simple question. But the answer was far from being simple.

Why? Why would Erica, _his_ Angel, betray him? _Why? WHY?_ He didn't understand. There had been no warning and no reason to her actions. _Why would she do this?_ He wondered angrily. As far as he knew he had been nothing but kind to her. Yes, he could be demanding, and yes, he could be strict, but still! She had never seemed anything but happy. _So why did she do it?_ he wondered. He was more than simply her teacher. He was her _friend_. Why would she just throw that away? What did she have to gain from her treachery? In his eyes it was nothing.

Nothing!

_But then why would she do it?_ That one question plagued him: _Why?_ That question would drive him even further into insanity than Ilsa claimed he already was. But all brilliant people are slightly insane. They had to be.

Something else a lot of brilliant people suffered from was an inability to understand human emotions. He himself had never been good with emotions, particularly with those of other people, which was probably why he never suffered any pangs of guilt after torturing or murdering someone. True, he understood that emotions could drive a person to do one thing or the other, but he didn't really comprehend them, and didn't want to. Emotions only got in the way of people doing things. He was comfortable with metal and gears and science because he understood them, but he was thrown into confusion because he couldn't understand what had made one of his closest friends suddenly decide to turn on him.

He began to consider what had happened during the battle. He remembered she had said: _"I'm sorry. My God I'm sorry, Kroenen! Forgive me! ...I don't want to fight you, Kroenen, but I don't have a choice anymore."_

She hadn't turned on them because she was angry at them, her words proved that much. And even when she had been fighting him, she hadn't seemed to _want_ to hurt him. So what was her motivating factor then? Religion? He scowled at the idea. He _had_ seen the crucifix around her neck, he had even ripped it away to make sure that what he was seeing was true. How had she decided to return to her former religion? He had been sure that he, Ilsa, and Grigory had managed to banish any Christian ideas from her mind by encouraging her to ask critical questions of her religion. In the end she had found things at fault, and when she came to them for advice, they had encouraged her to reject her religion. She had done so willingly, apparently without ever looking back. Then what had caused her to accept it again?

_Wait,_ he thought, _how did she even find her crucifix necklace to begin with? After she dropped it when she was dancing, Ilsa hid it in the attic._ He suddenly remembered that Ilsa had offhandedly remarked about sending Erica up to the attic with some boxes. Kroenen mentally groaned. He could practically picture what had happened. Erica had probably gone up to the attic and gotten curious enough to start poking around in things. And then she had found her necklace. No doubt the instant she touched it she had had a vision that looked at her actions from the point of view she had had when she first arrived in Germany. That also explained why she had lied about not having a vision and refused to let him into her mind. She had been afraid he would go poking around in her head and discover her vision.

_So that's it, _he thought half furiously, half despondently, _She gave everything up for a religion! For a Christian ideal! How frustratingly_ _typical!_

Kroenen usually displayed so little emotion that it came as a surprise to him when he discovered the unmistakable feeling of grief welling up inside him. He had known he could feel a certain level of concern, could feel anger and wrath—but grief? _So much for being a cold blooded murderer,_ he thought, grimacing. He reflected that it was fortunate he had cut off his eyelids all those years ago—it made crying impossible because he didn't have any tear ducts. And he knew that if he still had tear ducts he _would_ be crying.

On the other hand, not being able to cry meant that all those horrible feelings stayed bottled up inside him. It prevented his frustration, his anger, his grief, and his hate from escaping. Or did it?

_She gave everything up—she betrayed us—her friends—all for nothing! For _nothing

A despairing sob escaped from his mouth and he tried in vain to stop it. But he had he had no lips to close to muffle his gasping, harsh sobs.

It was then that Kroenen decided he was the first person to ever cry without tears.

"My Angel of Death, _my Angel_—Curse her!" he murmured, his words trailing off until he was silent. He was completely miserable, more so because he was embarrassed. He briefly wondered if he would feel better if he could _really_ cry. But it was pointless to wonder. He had no tear ducts, so he couldn't cry—even if he had permitted himself that display of weakness. In that respect he was better off than Ilsa, who had gone pale and quiet during the journey to Norway, except for random bursts of temper that showed how her pent up grief was affecting her.

He held his head in his remaining hand and lay there hunched over and shuddering, an occasional heart wrenching moan issuing from his lipless mouth. His sobs steamed up the lenses of his mask and he tried to take his mask off. He awkwardly fumbled at the straps and buckles with one hand, wishing Erica was there to help him as she had in the past. _But you wouldn't even _be _in this situation if it wasn't for her, _he thought, _This is all her fault._

He soon gave up and dropped his hand to the table. Kroenen took several deep, calming breaths and on a whim reached into a pocket of his trench coat. He pulled out the black and white photograph of himself, Ilsa, and Erica and gazed at the smile on Erica's face. It was almost like she was mocking his misery.

"Erica, my Angel of Death." he whispered, staring at the black and white photograph.

Why had she done this to him? He still couldn't believe he had tried to kill her—her—his Angel. He had hurt her. He had almost _killed_ her. He remembered the expression of agony in Erica's grey eyes when he had stabbed her. The look of fear and pain in her eyes was heart-wrenching—even though he didn't have one. Her scream echoed distantly in his head. He knew her blood was on his hands, and it was in more ways than one. Her blood stained his clothes and his weapons.

But in the end he _hadn't_ killed her. He had marked her instead, and left her to her fate. He expected she would survive. But if she did survive, he knew that when Grigory came back, he would be forced to kill her. Erica would have to pay the price the Ogdru Jahad demanded for her betrayal, and _he_ would have to be the one that killed her. He scowled. He was torn between hating her and wanting to forgive her. But her actions were unforgivable! She had known the consequences, and she deserved what she got! He wanted revenge.

_But how would I ever get revenge? _He wondered, _I can't even force myself to kill her when everything is at stake and the Ogdru Jahad _order_ me to kill her! And They are sure to punish me for not following their orders! Damn emotions! It's _all_ her fault!_

But was that true? When it came down to it, she had betrayed them, but she hadn't _wanted _to fight him. _He_ had been the one that forced the fight. What had happened was as much her fault as his. He had brought her to Germany in the first place, and in a fatalistic view, it had only been a matter of time before something had happened. Both sides had to share the blame.

_Sometimes I hate logic, _he sighed, _It's so much easier to blame her for everything._

Karl didn't know whether to pity Erica or to curse her. He wasn't even sure if he wanted to _kill_ her. He knew he was very angry with her—and in one very strange way he was proud of her. He couldn't help it. She had taken the skills he had taught her and fooled him so completely that he hadn't figured out what was going on until it was too late. He had taught her well.

He glanced at his ruined hand and felt anger boiling up inside him. Perhaps she excelled too much at being his student. His ruined hand, at least, was completely her fault. _His _Angel had done this to him. And it was her fault that Project Ragnarok had failed. _He_ had failed because of her. The entire fate of the Nazis had hung in the balance, waiting for him to grab that grenade. And then she had distracted him and he had failed. There was no doubt in his mind that if he had retrieved the grenade that the outcome of the battle would have been very different. And now his failure was sure to lead to the defeat of the Nazis.

He had been betrayed. He would never forget what she had done. He would make sure of that, even as she had made sure of that by stabbing his arm.

With a steely, purposeful calm he reached out and picked up a scalpel lying on the table. He grasped it and furiously went to work on his left hand, cutting Erica's initials into his left wrist, just and inch or two below his wrecked hand, gouging and slicing deep into his skin so it would leave a scar that would never fade. _E. S._—the initials would be a constant reminder of his plan for revenge.

_And now to get to work,_ he thought, _I have to do something about my wounds. I'll just bandage my left hand for now. I can't create a new one by myself, I'll need a hand._

His lipless grin grew ever wider as he saw the macabre humor in his thoughts, and then he began the task of repairing himself.

XXXXX

_An Abandoned Castle in Norway_

_An Hour Later_

It was close to dawn. The sun was just a few minutes away from peeking over the horizon. Kroenen stood at one of the castle's many windows, staring out at the landscape. The view was spectacular, but relatively empty. The castle was on a cliff, and the cliff was covered with tall golden grass frosted white by the cold air. Kroenen could hear the waves crashing on the base of the cliff and the screeching of various seabirds. There was a golden glow in the east.

_It promises to be a glorious morning,_ Kroenen thought, _How disgusting!_

He turned away from the window and descended the stone stairs, though he still had to cling to the railing for support. He had repaired as much of himself as he could without Ilsa's help. The loss of his left hand had been a huge inconvenience to him when he started to repair himself. He was hoping that he could convince Ilsa to help him finish what he had started.

He reached the bottom of the stairs and started towards the kitchen where he suspected Ilsa would be.

_Hopefully Ilsa will have recovered enough to help me,_ he thought as he pushed open the door.

_Or maybe not._

Ilsa was sitting hunched over at the kitchen table, her head in her hands, sobbing hysterically. The leather book lay nearby on the table.

Kroenen paused in the door way, suddenly feeling unsure of himself. He was just about to turn around and leave, when the door bumped into the wall. At the sound Ilsa turned around and saw him.

Ilsa was a mess. Her eyes were all puffy and her eye makeup was smeared. There were long streaks of black running down her cheeks where her tears had made her mascara run. She wiped at her tears, smearing the streaks even further across her cheeks.

Kroenen took a seat next to her. Everything was silent for a few moments. He watched the tears trickle down her face, feeling lost. He didn't know what to do for Ilsa— what compassion and sympathy had existed in him he had mercilessly smothered over the years until it was practically non-existent. And on top of that he didn't know what Ilsa was crying about. True, Grigory was gone, but he could never truly die, though right now he was probably as close to it as he could get. Kroenen felt very awkward sitting there and not knowing what to do, but he knew he would feel even more awkward if he simply got up and left.

"He's dead!" Ilsa suddenly sobbed, breaking the silence.

"Ja, he is. But think, what did he tell you about that? Why did he give you that book?"

"He said that for him…death is never…never permanent." Ilsa replied, her voice cracking. "He told me the book would…would guide me back to him. Kroenen, I won't…won't be happy until that_ arschloch_ professor responsible for this is dead! He destroyed us!"

Kroenen wondered if he dared to ask Ilsa what she thought about Erica. "And Erica?" he asked quietly.

"Erica! That conniving bastard! I just want to—to _kill_ her! I…I tried to…but she moved. The bullet missed." She looked at him. "How can you be so calm? Don't pretend to be so cold," Ilsa said, "Admit it, you have to feel _something_!"

"Ja. I feel like a failure. I missed the grenade. I know what impact that will have on our Nazi allies."

Ilsa looked at him, understanding bright in her tear filled eyes. "It's over now, isn't it?" she asked despondently.

"Nein, it's not," Kroenen said, his voice tinged with determination, "It has only _begun_! The Nazis may fall, but we will not!"

He noticed that Ilsa looked, well, odd. Besides her tears, she looked sort of vacant, like she was— His suspicions were confirmed when he realized that she smelled like wine and noticed the wine bottle and glasses sitting on the table. Ilsa was drunk. Or at least on her way there.

"You slobbering drunk," Kroenen said, but there was an affectionate tone in his voice. Ilsa stared back at him somewhat listlessly. "Why would you be drinking alcohol anyway?" he asked, trying to sound gentle.

Ilsa sniffled and a tear ran down her cheek. She ignored it and continued. "Grigory is gone, we're the only ones left, and now it's only a matter of time before the Nazis are defeated and the members of the Thule Society are killed or scattered across the face of the Earth."

Kroenen thought about it for a moment. It all was very depressing. And there was no way in Hell he was going to let Ilsa help him repair his wounds if she was even marginally drunk.

"Actually, when you put it that way, I think I'll join you." he said, pulling a wine glass towards him and filling both his and Ilsa's glasses with the blood red wine. Kroenen frankly didn't care if they both ended up drunk. It didn't matter if they did, no one would ever find them here, and it wasn't like they had any pressing matters to attend to right away. He reached up and managed to unbuckle the straps that held his mask on. He set it gently on the table. Ilsa stared at his face, unperturbed by his cadaverous appearance. They both picked up their wine glasses.

"To vengeance, then" Ilsa said, a strange fire burning in her icy blue eyes.

"To vengeance." agreed Kroenen.

XXXXX

Morning of October 10, 1944 

_The Ruins of Trondham Abbey_

"Okay! A little to the left! Hey! You in the back! Stand up straight! And you over there! Kneel down in front!"

The Allied soldiers stood in a smiling, if muddy and tired, group at the base of the crucifix as Matlin tried to organize them so he could take a picture. Professor Broom stood in the front with Sergeant Whitman. The air was filled with little puffs of white fog as the soldiers breathed.

The main part of the hurricane had passed, and though the sky was cloudy and overcast, the pale light of day filtered down though them. The ground was muddy and the rocks and ruins bare and cold, but the area still looked a lot friendlier by day then it had the previous night.

Erica, still dressed in her bloodstained SS uniform, was sitting on the ground a few feet away from Matlin. The demon baby the soldiers had named Hellboy was sitting contentedly on her lap, toying with her long brown hair and her newly repaired crucifix necklace that was hanging around her neck. The Professor knew Erica was still wary of Hellboy, but that she was also enchanted by him. Broom could tell from Erica's pale face that she was exhausted, but she had insisted on coming with him to watch the photograph being taken. And really, it was a good thing she had, because it allowed him and the rest of the soldiers to get ready without Hellboy being in the way. When they were all in place Erica would bring Hellboy over.

Sergeant Whitman was standing on Broom's right, watching Erica and the "baby".

"I never thought I'd say this," Whitman said, as he gazed at Hellboy sitting on Erica's lap, "But you've definitely made me a believer in the paranormal."

"Really. What changed your mind?" asked Broom, curious.

"Among other things, that." said Whitman, pointing to a smiling Erica and Hellboy. The other soldiers laughed good-naturedly.

"A little closer together now!" Matlin shouted. When everyone had moved to his satisfaction, he gestured to Erica.

"You can bring Hellboy over now."

Erica smiled and scooped up the toddler with her right arm, since her left shoulder hurt too much to use that arm. She put him down beside Broom before retreating to stand beside Matlin.

"Move a little to the center." Matlin said, gesturing to the soldiers, "Good! Hold that!"

Broom whispered Hellboy's name to get him to look at the camera.

"Look at the birdie!" Matlin said, smiling. He took the picture.

The soldiers smiled and then milled around, happily talking and getting ready for departure. Whitman came over to Erica with the Professor, who was carrying Hellboy.

"Good to know you're on our side," Whitman said gruffly to her, "I must say you've surprised me by being a whole Hell of a lot different than I expected."

"Danke. Very often, when you peel away all the rumors and superstitions, the horrible monster you thought someone to be turns out to be nothing but a story," Erica grinned wryly, "This applies to me, at least in a small way." She paused and smiled sadly. "With Kroenen, it's different. There are many rumors, and some aren't true, but the rest are. He truly is the way you've heard, with the rare exception."

Whitman turned to the Professor. "Get ready to go, Broom, we're leaving in a few minutes."

Broom nodded and the Sergeant left to attend to his duties.

Erica looked at Broom and decided to ask a question that had been bothering her. "What is going to happen to me?" she asked.

Professor Broom sighed. "Well, I'm hoping that you're handed over to my department. Of course, you'll be forbidden to leave without an escort, but it's a lot better than being executed or imprisoned for life."

"Better than death? Ja. Better than prison? Forgive me if I say that no matter what, a prison is still a prison."

"It might seem that way for a while, but I think you'll get used to it. Besides, if you're up to it, there's a lot for you to do. We spend most of our time combating the forces of evil and killing monsters, exorcising evil spirits, that sort of thing."

"Demons, monsters, ghosts—no big deal. I've dealt with them before, though I was usually encouraging them to cause trouble instead of stopping them. Besides, I have to do something to make up for my past, and this seems the best way to me. I can put my skills to work on the side of good."

Broom smiled. "I hoped you would say that."

"Professor, I am also willing to give you any information I have about the Nazis and Thule Society's activities and plans. I'll use my visions to help you, too. The Nazis _will_ lose this war."

"How do you know?" Broom asked, "You sound so confident."

"Project Ragnarok was the Nazis last hope. The failure of the Project will be a fatal blow to the Nazis."

"But how can you be sure?"

"I can see the future, remember?" Erica said, smiling.

Broom thought he saw the smallest smile on her lips, as if she had a secret. And of course she did. Besides her visions, Erica knew because it was what she had been taught in school. She already knew what the outcome of WWII had to be.

"Erica, I believe that together, we can accomplish great things." Professor Broom said, offering her his hand. She eyed his hand with a hint of mistrust. Who could blame her, considering what had happened because she had trusted Kroenen all those years ago? But she knew she didn't have to worry about Professor Broom, he was genuinely a good person trying to make a difference in the world. Erica smiled and shook his hands. Broom beamed at her.

"Come on. Let's go home." he said, turning toward the Allied ships.

"Home?" Erica asked.

Erica hadn't known a place that was truly home in what felt like an eternity. For a moment a mental image of the mansion in Germany appeared in her mind's eye, but she banished it. Home was where people cared about you—and clearly Grigory had only been using her to achieve his own goals. Ilsa probably hadn't cared about Erica either way. Kroenen had cared—at least in some way. Enough not to kill her. Somehow this still wasn't a very comforting thought. Erica had an uncomfortable feeling that if she ever met Kroenen again, that day would almost certainly be her last.

Erica _wanted_ to have a home again. She _wanted_ to have true friends and family who would care about her. She _wanted_ to be happy and not have to be constantly afraid for her life.

_Home,_ she thought, a huge smile on her face as she followed the Professor, _I can't wait._

XXXXX

_October 10, 1944_

_An Abandoned Castle in Norway_

Kroenen sat at a table, wine sloshed down the front of his ragged SS uniform from where it had spilled out of his lipless mouth. He was more than a little drunk. Absentmindedly he licked at his exposed teeth and glanced at Ilsa. Her head rested on her folded arms on top of the table. She was asleep— or had passed out.

He wondered what was going on in the outside world, specifically whether or not Erica had survived the night. He had a feeling she had, call it intuition. And if she had survived, he knew there was going to be Hell to pay the first chance Grigory or the Ogdru Jahad got around to it.

But Erica wasn't the only thing he wondered about. He wondered what the people of Germany would be told about what had happened last night. Kroenen was sure that rumors about what had happened were spreading like wildfire, considering that the Ogdru Jahad _not _been released and the entire Nazi-Thule Society party that had been on the island had disappeared without a trace. Everyone probably assumed that all the soldiers had died, and that he, Ilsa, and Grigory had died along with them. Kroenen would do nothing to dispel the rumors of their deaths, it was far better that he and Ilsa just seem to have quietly disappeared off the face of the Earth. They would wait until the world thought them dead before they tried to bring Grigory back.

And the world _would_ assume he and Ilsa were dead. The Nazis would be too busy fighting a losing war to miss them or bother to send people to look for them.

_Erica will know,_ he thought, _she'll know we're not dead. She'll be waiting for us. The only question, of course, is will she be ready when we appear?_

Kroenen pulled the black and white photograph out of his pocket. He gazed at it blearily and a little drunkenly.

_I'll find you my Angel of Death, _he thought_, I'll find you—though Heaven bar the way!_

Author's Notes: Well, I hope you enjoyed the ending! And don't worry, Erica and Kroenen won't stay mad at each other forever. I'm still excepting ideas for my sequel, so please send them to me if you have any. At present I know that Grigory and Ilsa will have a bigger part in my sequel, but that's about all. Oh, by the way, I've decided to name the sequel "Though Heaven Bar the Way" in honor of Kroenen's thoughts at the end of this chapter, and you can expect to see the first chapter within a month. Please, _please_ review this time!


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